Dream State

As part of my metaphysical studies, I’ve trained myself in lucid dreaming, which is when a person having a dream is aware that they’re dreaming. For me, lucid dreaming doesn’t happen often, but when it does it’s remarkable.

I recently dreamed I was on a trip with my ex to visit his new place of employment. I can’t say for sure where we were, but it felt like somewhere in the outskirts of downtown San Francisco. We were standing in front of a building where his job was now located. As we were just about to enter the building, a man my ex recognized came around a corner. At that point the dream became a lucid dream. I consciously realized two things with utter clarity: I was dreaming, and I recognized the man from a long, long time ago.

In order for this dream to make sense in the telling of it, some background is needed. After my long-ago divorce, I was emotionally broken and had no business throwing myself into dating so soon afterward. I know now that at the time I was still in shock from the breakup and terrified at being set adrift in a culture that idolizes mated couples. I ill-advisedly joined a dating app. Twenty-five years ago in real life, the dating app had connected me to the man I now saw in the dream, a man whose name I couldn’t remember.

On our one and only date, this man and I went to a concert where several young Asian violinists were featured. I haven’t been able to recall anything about the concert other than what I think was their last segment. They played something that was so perfect, so transcendent, that I could almost see the music flowing from them. I can’t remember the music itself, but I know that no music in my life, before or since, has so completely absorbed me spiritually and emotionally. At the end of the piece, the audience was blanketed in near-absolute silence for several heartbeats. We stood as one body to applaud and many cheered.

As I was applauding, I wiped tears away and self-consciously glanced at my date to see if he’d noticed. He happened to look at me at the same time and I saw that he, too, was in tears. When he realized that we shared the same response, I felt his absolute shock as a physical jolt. It was as if a brilliant light had been shined on me, but I turned away and automatically slammed a psychic barrier between us. My emotional state was such that the connection was too intense for me to even examine, much less accept. The next part I remember is being in my car, with him leaning slightly to talk to me through the driver-side window. He must have asked if he could see me again, but his desperation terrified me even further. I think I probably either simply said no or just drove away, because my last memory is seeing him in the rearview mirror as I drove away, his arms hanging limply in dejection.

Twenty-five years later in my dream, I commanded myself to remember this face. Improbably, the man and I felt compelled to try staying in touch outside the dream. An old store receipt was found, and I consciously watched my hand write down a phone number on it. I realized it was an old landline number and crossed it out, then watched myself write down my current mobile number. I consciously looked at the man and said, what is your name.

There are many realities in the multiverse, but in the reality where I’m writing this blog, the man and I never connected again. In some other reality, perhaps I got to know Paul.