Hope's Kitchen: First Lucid Telepathic Dream
When I first began lucid dreaming on a regular basis, most of my dream meetings were with unknown people. The second most frequent category included the people I knew at work. My place of employment was quite volatile, so it was hard to obtain evidence that my lucid dreams were more than simple conversations with myself. I needed some neutral information to share and compare.
Finally, one night, I had this lucid dream series. It demonstrates the persistence required of deliberate dreaming. I had to keep forcing myself back to sleep in order to continue the lucidity.
Hope's Kitchen, 10/30/83
Off to the right of a raised stage, I am seated, talking with a woman who is indistinct and translucent. I ask, "Will you hug me?" and reach out to hold her. I touch her upper torso and can feel the soft folds of skin on her stomach as the dream fades. (I return to sleep.)
I am in a small, green room with a few pieces of furniture. There are similar cubicles nearby. In front of me is a mirror that's shining brightly but has no reflection. I wonder if all the pieces of furniture are hallucinations and decide to find out. I pick up a white plastic chair and throw it through a dark window to my right. It's actually a square hole bordered by a wooden frame. The chair is followed by a table; then I heave a water heater through the hole. I mange to get rid of all the furniture, then decide to go into the blackness myself. It's completely dark. I turn around. Looking back, I can see the rectangular glow of the room from which I've come. The dream fades. (I return to sleep.)
I'm viewing a bathroom from several different perspectives. Then I'm in a yellow room with another woman. I ask her, "Can you put your arm through the wall?" "No," she replies. "I can," I tell her and do. Actually, I put my whole self through the wall.
The next room turns out to be a living room. I walk to a window at the end and try to go through the glass, but get wrapped up in it instead. I back out. On a color TV, the Governor of Montana is talk about some disaster. The dream fades out. I continue to listen to the words in order to try to bring the dream back. (I return to sleep.)
I find myself in a kitchen with two men, one who is a grandfatherly type. Since I'm lucid I ask him, "Where are we? What year is this?" He replies a mumble which ends with the word, "Pepper." "Pepper?! What kind of answer is that?!" I respond. Then I see Hope (a woman on my staff at work) and ask her, "Where are we?" She responds by first asking me if I'm someone she knows and suggests a name.
"No, Linda," I retort with emphasis. I repeat my questions of where and when. She answers, "Topeka" and "1948."
That morning I went to work and asked Hope whether "Topeka" and "1948" had any significance for her. Her jaw dropped. "How did you know about that?" she asked. I replied as nonchalantly as I could, "Oh, I saw you in my dream last night." Instead of looking at me weirdly, she became intrigued, so I told her more specifics. Hope recalled that her husband had been stationed at a military base somewhere in Kansas in 1948, but she couldn't remember exactly where the base was located and went home to find out. The next day she reported that, indeed, he had been stationed near Topeka.
Perhaps this small bit of information within a much larger dream adventure could be considered trivial. But I was impressed that the "facts" of the matter didn't come directly from Hope's conscious memory. She had to confirm with her husband what her dreaming self seemed to already know.
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