Monday, December 7, 2009
Is There a Doctor in the House?
Yesterday I had a lucid dream in which I encounter more stumbling blocks:
I am in a large, busy restaurant with booths lining the walls. I realize I'm dreaming and yell out, "Is there a doctor in the house?" because my mission for this dream is to get some healing for my own body. I wait a few moments while the talking dies down. Yes, there is a doctor, at the far end of the restaurant. He comes around the corner, red-faced and energetic, his blue eyes bulging. I say, "Excuse me sir, but can you heal my back?" He perfunctorily starts rubbing the muscles of my upper back really hard. This is not exactly what I am expecting, and it hurts.
When he finishes, I ask if he can please look at my lower back, too. By this time, people have started to line up for healing. He says no, he can't help. There's not time. I say, "yes there is time. Can you please look at the lump in my back?" He repeats that he cannot. Then I ask the doctor if he can send a healing angel, and he says, "No, because you have cancer and you are supposed to write a book, so go live your life and make it book-readable!" The dream shifts into a false awakening. I am no longer lucid. A lengthy dream ensues.
I want to highlight many aspects of this dream that make it a successful learning experience, but not a successful healing dream for my back. First, I ask for a doctor, who presumably is eating dinner when I call on him. Therefore, it's no surprise I end up with a guy who doesn't want to be bothered by my minor back issues at that time. He may also be a stereotype of a western doctor that I carry around--one who lacks time, patience, and the curiosity needed to correctly diagnose. (I have a very high opinion of my own doctor, however.)
Second, rather than asking this doctor if he could send a healing angel, I could have asked the dream itself to send an angel. Looking back, it seems out of character for this dream figure to have complied with such a request. Or, I could have skipped the intermediary altogether and simply asked the dream to heal my body. More assertively, I could have sent my back healing energy myself.
Third, when I realized I probably would not receive healing from the doctor, I could have asked who he represents.
Lastly, when the doctor told me I have cancer, I could have asked for all of my fears to fall away from the dreamscape to see if the information still held true.
One reason I want to heal my body in a lucid dream is so I can experience a measurable effect of the power of dreaming. My own body seems more manageable as an individual endeavor. I expect that creating health on a smaller scale will teach me about large-scale ecological restoration. I also realize that my body is the Earth, and so healing it is as worthwhile a practice as any.
Lucid dreaming is an exercise in sharpening the mind. It requires an ongoing, accurate reading of the environment. When we can focus our intent while reacting precisely, immediately, and creatively to the maneuvers of our dreamscape, then we can manage our realities with the ease of a martial artist. I am learning to be careful what I ask for, and to mean exactly what I say. This, too, is a lesson I can generalize to the waking world.