I was sitting at a table in my elementary school library when a friend said, “This is just a dream.” He was right.
I woke up to a dark and quiet house, and a new power — it was possible to recognize dreams from the inside.
Every morning, I searched my memory for clues. It wasn’t the outlandish stuff that tipped me off, but the details. In dreams, I couldn’t read. When I was afraid, I couldn’t scream. When terrified, I couldn’t move. So it was the nightmares more than anything that unlocked my power over dreams.
By my teens, I had come to recognize the dream world by feel. That alternate reality has its own texture, and I was rarely unaware when I was inside it. I learned to manipulate the space, to stop scenes, sometimes even replay them, or to make them dissolve, to fly at will and walk through walls. I had become the dream master.Continue Reading