I have always found dreams and dreaming very interesting. Sleep, in general, is a great hobby of mine, and dreaming is a fantastic product of the sleeping. Kimberley and I took a dream course last year at the Transformational Arts College and I logged and tried to interpret my dreams for a couple of weeks after.

Since last week, just for the heck of it, I started listening to some old remote viewing tapes that Tim dug out from the back of a filing cabinet. Holy cannoli! I have been dreaming (and remembering) wild, epic dreams consistently, every night. It’s a four episode television mini-series in my mind each night.

What I think is really interesting is lucid dreaming. Being able to manipulate my recurring: ‘I am traveling somewhere, am late and can’t find/don’t have the things I need to get there, and am going to miss my flight because I don’t know where the airport is’ dream sounds pretty good to me. Oh, there my passport and sunscreen is. And the cab just pulled up…

Last night I think I had my first, semi-lucid, dream and it was a particularly emotional one. I was at my grandparent’s for a holiday dinner. It is usual for us, to come to the front door to greet with a hug, any family member arriving for dinner. The door opens, and it is my great-grandmother who passed away 5 years ago. I think to myself: ‘This is a dream, Baba is dead.’ I walk up to her and give her a hug (which I swear I could feel) and say ‘I love you, I am sorry we did not have enough time together.’ She says, ‘We had lots of time.’ I ask, ‘You are dead, do you still love me?’ She says, ‘ I have loved you since you were born, I will always love you.’

After that point, I lost control of the dream. I woke up this morning remembering that part of my dreaming in particular, and recounted it tearfully. It felt so happy today, thinking of that dream. How beautiful to have dream contact with a much loved relative? I have renewed gratefulness for having the time I had with her. Because she’s right, if you count what time we did have and weigh it according to how wonderful the moments were, we did have a lot.

My favorite Baba memory is packed picnic lunches in a Skippy peanut butter pail, eaten on the yard swing.