An Introduction to Lucid Dreaming: A Fond Farewell to Mama
“All is like a dream or a magic show…”
Tibetan song
by Jenny Funkmeyer
After my mom died a year ago, I longed to see her again in this lifetime. To do so,
I turned to a technique I’ve used successfully – WILD, or Wake Induced Lucid Dreaming – part of Tibetan dream yoga since time immemorial. While Tibetans use hand signs and sit and chant in particular ways, I merely stay awake while my physical body goes through the sleep cycle.
As I rest comfortably in bed, a switch goes off – bonk! – and my brainwaves change to different frequency. Then my body goes stiff, and I can’t move. I feel excited, but keep my body very still and remain immobile. Slowly, I sink deeper into a sleep state. All of a sudden, I’m gone – and have entered delta deep sleep! As a separate ego identity system, I no longer exist – and I’m one with the divine. Of the meditation techniques I’ve tried, lucid dreaming offers the easiest way to reach this sweet spot of deep divine connection.
A thought comes floating by: “You’re dreaming now. What do you want to do?” Ah ha! I’ve done it! I’ve come through the delta deep sleep and into a dream state. Suddenly, I’m walking down a narrow hallway with doors on both sides. I look down and see my dream feet walking on the plush carpet. I realize I’m on a cruise ship – the Queen Mary, which my mother and I once took from New York to Dover, England. During our voyage, Mama liked to dress in her finest evening clothes, apply artful makeup, wear dazzling jewelry – and make a royal entrance in the grand ballroom for formal dinner at six in the evening. All that fancy jazz doesn’t suit me. I’m a hippie at heart, hate to be told when or what to eat or how to dress or look. On that trip, I was insensitive to Mama – I was a killjoy, refusing to dress up and never commenting on how beautiful she looked.
In the dream, I touch the door handle and know Mama is on the other side. It takes courage, but I open the door. There is Mama! Flesh and blood, in all her 3-D glory – just as she was in life.
Mama flutters around – smoothing her dress, putting every hair in place, donning her sparkly jewelry, and giving her lipstick a final touchup. She asks me to button her cheongsam, the Chinese-style dress she’s wearing. As I push each button through its silk loop, I’m gentle and tender. “Mama,” I say, “your hair looks beautiful and your makeup is perfect.”
All of a sudden, I feel anxious. I worry that my clothes are too casual. But when I look down at myself, I’m wearing a beautiful evening dress.
I know full well I’m dreaming, but Mama has no idea she’s in my dream. She chats excitedly about dinner. Even though she is animated and alive, inside I’m crying. It’s sad but also healing. In the dream, I do what I neglected to do for Mama in waking life.
As the dream continues, I walk to the balcony. The deep blue ocean greets me, and I see the faraway horizon line. Suddenly, I realize I can see clearly. In waking life, I’m nearsighted but don’t wear corrective lenses – so reality is a big blur to me. But since this is my dream, I have 20/20 vision.
A thought comes to me: “I want to see everyone I love at dinner.” One by one, I conjure up my loved ones. In my omni-clear vision, I see them on the cruise ship, in their own rooms, putting on their finest formal attire and preparing for a lavish dinner. I feel elated, but my joy is mixed with melancholy. It occurs to me that I’m dreaming it all up…Just then, my real-life feet burn in pain, as if they are on fire – taking me out of the dream and back to my physical body. After a moment, I remember what Louise Hay said: If your feet hurt, you’re afraid to move forward on your spiritual journey.
I think of my ocean voyage, and realize that “crossing” is a significant metaphor in Buddhism. We’re on this shore – this busy waking life – and get on a cruise ship, the dharma, to reach the other shore. Our loved ones, the sangha – our helpers, our mates, our children, our partners – are on the cruise ship. We take off. The ocean is vast, and the journey is full of ups and downs. We fight, we love, we learn lessons from enlightened beings, the buddha, and do our best to make the crossing. In time, we reach the other shore.
“Would she be a clever woman,” the Buddha asked, “if, having reached the other shore, she were to cling to her raft, take it on her back, and walk about with the weight of it?”
We look back, and the cruise ship with the loved ones is gone. These are illusions that help us make the crossing. Once we reach the other shore, the magic show is no more.
After my lucid dream about my mother, I spent the rest of the day crying, lost between worlds, processing the information along with a torrent of mixed emotions. Lucid dreaming is a profound gift from my higher soul – and has changed my outlook during waking life. All is like a dream or a magic show – even waking reality.
As I sleep, I awaken. I understand that all is illusion – and only love is luminously real.
“When the state of dreaming has dawned
do not lie in ignorance like a corpse.
Enter the natural sphere of unwavering attentiveness.
Recognize your dreams and transform
illusion into luminosity…”
Tibetan Buddhist Prayer
jenny, thank you so much for this gift! it is a HUGE reminder for me. you see, i have had a similar experience, tho not nearly as consciously produced.
when my mom died 20 years ago in august, i was full of grief and went to an energy worker who had been recommended to me. after doing some intensive work on my energy field to help release the grief, she suggested i speak with my mother. she said i could invite my mother to somewhere of my choosing and tell her all the things i wish i had told her in life. and to have my mother say all the things i wish i had heard her say.
later, i lay down and, much in the same way that you described, i left my physical body (i did not have any sense of having fallen asleep; it merely felt like a meditation) and found myself up on a craggy mountain top, a place my mom, in real life, would never had been able to be, for she was crippled with ankylosing spondilitis, frozen along her spinal column like a crooked, stiff, dried-up piece of wood. but here i was, inviting her to a very difficult condition! hmmm, was i afraid of her, or what? but here she came, and i proceeded with the plan of action. i started telling my mother all of the things i had been holding inside; the criticisms, never being good enough for her, never making choices she approved of and encouraged. part way thru my diatribe, she whacked me lightly on my shoulder with the back of her hand to get my attention, and said “Lighten up!” that surprised me, cuz, wasn't this supposed to be MY dream? didn't i get to be the writer/director/producer? no, it had taken on a life of its own, as lessons must do to get around our stubborn egos.
my mother then said 'look want i can do!” and she was doing cartwheels, flips, moving her body in ways i had never seen her do before!! i realized she was young, supple, happy! she was FREE!!
then i came out of the meditation, my lesson a very deep one that continues to tease me with its promise, if only i “Lighten up!”