Okay, it’s time to admit it. My lucid dreaming re-experiment is a bust. The problem is my dreams are just very, very boring. Not at all like Jung’s, so significant he had to write a whole book about them. Or even my friend Curtis, whose dream was like a little movie where he got to ask the projectionist to slow down so he could look for his long-dead father.
Then there’s Archimedes’ bathtub, and James Watson’s double helix, and Abraham Lincoln seeing his body in the East Room. All those people, though, also had rather remarkable waking lives.
Many years ago I read a book called Journeys Out of the Body. The author, Robert Monroe, left his body accidentally one night, and had such a good time he taught himself how to do it regularly (and now you can go to his institute and do it yourself). I spent many nights back then trying to slip out of my body – it’s just like taking off a glove, he said – but all I got was a weird tingling on the top of my head.
I think my problem is that I no longer believe my dreams are all that significant. Or maybe the meager return isn’t worth the work. I do know that the idea of leaving my body terrifies me now – and that if my glove came off, I’d probably be dead. I think I’ll settle for just a good night’s sleep.