one is aware that one is dreaming

I am a lucid dreamer. I have been since I was a child. Sometimes this is a curse and sometimes it’s a gift. Sometimes I can direct the dreams and sometimes I can’t. I can see, hear, touch, taste, and smell in my dreams and I’ve been told that’s unusual. This morning the dream I had was so vivid I wrote part of it down. I think it may very well be a new novel though I don’t know what it’s about just yet. The funny thing about these dreams is that I get a great deal of imagery and tension, but no resolution. It’s usually up to me to determine what happens to the characters in my dreams and why.

For the longest time I didn’t understand that the writing part, the determination part, was up to me and the dreams would just disappear into the black hole of my memory. I can’t tell you how many of these dreams I’ve lost, but I know it’s quite a few. I think I’ve figured out how to write these stories, finally. My husband has said more than once that “universes are created and destroyed in your dreams every night” and possibly he’s right. If so, it’s an awesome and frightening possibility.


Untitled Draft of Dream number 4541

Ximena ran her fingers along the white marble walls as they walked. The cold surface soothed her nerves and helped her orient her thoughts properly. Too much confusion in her mind led to bad things, not that she’d ever let it get to that. Her authority was a heavy responsibility, but she’d been raised to shoulder it since birth.

The tunnel they moved down was brightly lit, almost enough to hurt her eyes, but not quite. The marble that sheathed everything might have looked sterile except for the few black doors that dotted the long passage. They were the secret entrances to every room in the palace, used by servants and security personnel. It was a major breach of protocol for her to be here.

“Why are you doing this?” Zefirino asked.

She shrugged tiredly, unsurprised by his question. She’d been waiting for it. “It’s my responsibility.”

He put a hand to her shoulder, stopping her. “No, it’s not. It’s too dangerous. I could question her for you.”

She turned to him and frowned. His dear face was troubled and she wished she could reach out and smooth the worry lines away, but such familiarity would shock him. She sighed, instead. “We tried it your way and she wouldn’t speak. I need to do this.”

He looked at her steadily, the deep brown of his eyes never wavering. She looked down, wondering how he could stand there like that, so still. He never fidgeted. His tight black uniform hugged his body, highlighting the muscles hard-won through years of training. Weapons were strapped to his arms and legs, small black lumps against the synthetic smart fabric of his clothing.

“You know I’m right,” she said finally, meeting his eyes again. She ignored the curious looks of the others in the passageway. They knew better than to question her presence here. She was their ruler, their lady. Zefirino was head of security, as his father had been before him. Of all the people in the palace, they had the right to go anywhere and do anything they wished. She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension that coiled in her spine like a snake. The right to go anywhere meant that she went fewer places than most.

Zef licked his lower lip thoughtfully. She tried not to smile. He would hate to be reminded of the one childhood habit he could not train away. “Fine. But I will be there with you at all times.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She looked down the gleaming marble at the black door set into the curve of the tunnel. “It’s time.”

He said nothing as she walked to the door and paused in front of it. After a moment’s hesitation, she put her eye to the security panel set at shoulder height. The electronics in the door identified her retinal pattern. With a flick of her eyelid, she keyed on the hidden camera so that she could look out into the courtyard. Sitting on the stone bench near the waterfall was the woman they’d come to see. Her long, brown hair was expertly arranged to fall over her left shoulder. Her lips were painted a deep red. Ximena stifled the urge to run her hand down her own hair. Her assistant Lina would kill her if she messed up her work. It’d taken an hour to wrestle her curly red mane into submission this morning.

“Well?” Zef asked.

“So pushy,” she murmured. Her companion flashed her a rare grin. Ximena rolled her eyes at him then squared her shoulders and pushed open the door.


Notes: I came up with the character’s names as I wrote this. In the dream they were unnamed. And there is more to the dream: a whole scene with the woman and shooting and people running away from the violence, but I think I’ll save that for the novel this dream is going to become. 😉

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