Lucid

I dreamed I was reading and participating in a comic novel by H.G. Wells. I was the eldest son of an Edwardian family who were staying in a hotel room that had a hole in the ceiling through which water was pouring. I had the novel in my hands and I looked down at it and saw that it was wrapped in the dust jacket of a book by G.K. Chesterton. "Well, that's not right," I thought and took the jacket off, only to find there was another one underneath- and this was for a book by A.A. Milne. "OK," I thought, that's so screwy I must be dreaming." At which point the dream became lucid. "Right," I told myself. "If I'm dreaming I can go where I like- and I don't need to stay in this hotel room any longer."

So I rose up through the ceiling.

I don't remember everything that followed. I flew through the hotel corridors and out over the streets of a slightly phantasmagorical Edwardian London. The town was bright and festive and evenly lit- the way film sets often were before the lighting in films became naturalistic. I stopped to read a theatre poster, asked my shadowy companion whether the show was one that also existed in the waking world and a couple of old folks who were sitting nearby picked up on my thought and answered- telepathically- that it wasn't because that would be boring. There were limits to my freedom. I could pass through ceilings and window glass- and was showing my Edwardian younger brother how to do it- but was unable to transcend the Edwardian theme park I was in. At one point I thought it might be nice to fly up into space- shazam!- and go orbit a star- and found that I couldn't...

Towards the end, the lucidity faded and I was back in the hotel room talking to my comical Edwardian father about his skills as a wicket-keeper...

I have been wanting to go lucid- and listening to binaural beats at bed-time in the hope that it might assist me- and, well, it seems like I've done it...