You are now entering a real lucid dream.
A lucid dream lifted from the pages of my very own dream journal.
By listening to this recording,
You'll sow the seeds for a lucid dream of your own later on in the night.
This in and of itself can be considered an induction technique,
A simple one granted,
But a technique nonetheless.
By turning the lights off,
Laying down on your bed,
And closing your eyes,
You can simply and effectively induce a lucid dream by leaving this recording on as you drift away.
Let my words,
Let my dream,
Penetrate your subconscious,
Allow it to find its way in,
And allow it to make itself at home.
By falling to sleep with this recording on,
Your mind will be primed,
And your neurons will be wired.
You'll be saturated in the world of lucid dreaming.
So find a quiet spot now,
And get settled in,
Get comfortable,
And my voice will return in a couple of minutes,
To guide you into another world.
And so,
Let's begin.
This one's called,
The Gallery of Dreams.
You stand at the entrance of an old art gallery,
Its grand double doors slightly ajar,
Revealing glimpses of a shimmering light inside.
The night air is cool,
And above,
The sky,
A velvet black,
Dotted with distant flickering stars.
For a second,
You hesitate on the threshold,
But then,
Feeling emboldened,
You step through,
Up the steps,
And into the gallery,
Your footsteps echoing beneath you as you go.
This space feels special somehow,
It's glowing golden,
And the walls are lined with huge paintings,
Beautifully crafted,
Exquisitely framed,
Each one a masterpiece in its own right,
Alive with vivid landscapes,
Bustling cities,
And tranquil scenes that hum.
The artwork seems to breathe,
Beckoning you closer,
Asking you to observe it,
Demanding your total and utter attention.
And so,
You give yourself over to it,
Admiring.
Admiring.
Now,
You step closer to one of the paintings,
A vast,
Shimmering desert,
Wonderful,
You think,
Imbibing it.
You lean in closer,
Inspecting,
And notice it has movement.
Subtle movement.
And this strikes you as strange.
The sand,
Displaced under an invisible breeze.
You reach out to touch the painting,
And the surface ripples like water.
But how,
You wonder,
Your brain trying to make sense of the strange physics,
I don't understand.
After a while of contemplation,
The reality of the situation becomes obvious to you,
Like a lightning strike.
Of course,
I have to be dreaming.
And with that,
Your hand is pulled into the canvas.
Then,
Your arm,
And before you know it,
All of you.
You're no longer standing in the art gallery at all.
You find yourself on the edge of an endless desert,
Looking out,
The heat of the sun beating down on you.
The sky is a deep,
Burning orange.
Strange,
Swirling clouds move rapidly across the sky.
In the distance,
Towering dunes rise and fall like waves.
You're lucid dreaming,
Alright.
And so,
You begin to explore.
Here,
In this desert landscape,
A gust of wind carries the faint sound of voices.
Soft,
But unmistakable.
You turn towards it,
Spotting an oasis in the distance.
A woman standing by the edge,
Her figure shimmering.
Hey there,
You exclaim,
Bounding over.
As you do,
However,
The landscape shifts.
The dunes grow impossibly tall,
And the oasis slides further and further away.
I'm treading water,
You think.
And then,
Suddenly,
The sand beneath your feet gives way,
And you're falling.
Slowly.
More like,
Floating.
Down.
Like a feather.
You land back on solid ground,
In a dense,
Ancient forest.
The air is cool and fragrant with pine.
The trees around you are tall.
You approach one,
And gently lay your palm on the bark.
It ripples like the painting in the gallery.
Then,
The trees bend,
Swaying rhythmically,
Opening up to reveal a narrow path.
Cautiously,
You follow the path,
Curious to know where it will lead.
You must remember you're dreaming.
You say out loud to ground yourself,
Letting your fingers skim the tree's bark,
As you walk.
Eventually,
The path leads to a clearing.
A clearing drenched in moonlight.
Clearing drenched in moonlight.
Wanderers,
You think.
Pricks and tingles running up your skin.
And there,
Suspended in the air,
Right in the middle of the clearing,
You see another painting.
This time,
No frame.
No support.
Just levitating there.
Like a portal.
Waiting.
You examine it.
This painting depicts a star-filled sky over an ocean,
Its waves reflecting the starlight.
The scene is serene.
Otherworldly,
In fact.
And,
Once again,
You get sucked in.
Right in.
Now,
You stand on the shore of the ocean,
Looking out,
The cool waves lapping at your feet.
Above you,
The stars seem impossibly close,
As if you could reach out and touch them.
The water shimmers with light,
Casting a glow across the beach.
You watch in awe as the stars begin to move,
Swirling into constellations and patterns that shift before your very eyes.
They form the image of a word.
Dream,
It says,
Writ large across the sky.
And what a wonderful dream it is.
Still on the ocean shore,
You notice a small boat approaching now.
A figure stands at the bow,
Beckoning you on board.
Come,
They say,
Come.
And so,
Without hesitation,
You wade into the water and climb aboard.
The figure stares in silence,
Delivering you across the sea.
And,
As you sail,
The stars above begin to fall,
One by one,
Into the ocean.
Each star sends a ripple of light across the water.
The boat now drifts towards a new shore,
A shore covered in mist.
Here,
You spot another painting,
Levitating just like the last.
But this one is different,
Simpler,
A door to the ocean.
A door set against a blank wall.
The pull towards it is stronger than ever.
The figure in the boat nods,
Urging you off with palms open.
Good luck,
He says.
And so,
You step onto the misty shore and approach the painting.
And then,
For one final time,
In you go.
Light floods your vision,
And you're back in the gallery where you began.
The glow fading,
The paintings around you still and silent once more.
You glance at the nearest canvas.
It's a new painting,
One that wasn't there before.
It depicts the previous scene,
The ocean reflecting the starlight,
The falling stars.
And the small boat and captain.
You're creating worlds here,
You realise.
And even though,
In one sense,
You're just dreaming,
In another,
It's so much more.
Continue,
Traveller,
On your own now.
If you listened to this lucid dreaming story just for fun,
I hope you enjoyed it.
And if you listened for induction purposes,
Then I hope this parting message now finds you relaxed and drifting.
Your lucid dreaming seeds have been sown.
Your mind has been primed.
And you are ready for sleep.
And so,
With that,
I draw this session to a close.
Remember,
You are a lucid dreamer.
Never forget it.
Happy dreaming.
