This concerns a dream I had back in 1999 when I was living in Beltsville, MD.
I dreamed I was back in the house I had grown up in, spending a sleepless night in my old bed. I had an opressive feeling that there was something uncanny nearby, maybe just outside the door to the bedroom (which was closed, and at the foot of the bed to the left) or in the carport. There was a window to the carport just over the middle of my bed on the right, but I was afraid to open the blinds and look out. All these details were accurate reflections of my old bedroom.
I awakened to find myself back in my room in Beltsville. I went to the sliding door to the balcony and looked out, since it was the only source of light, because I still had the creepy feeling that some malevolent presence was near. Outside was a peaceful scene of the sea lapping against the beach; on the sea were the reflections of about 4 moons.
At this point I knew I was still dreaming.
It was not the fact that my balcony was gone and the sliding door converted to just a big window nor the fact that Beltsville is nowhere near the sea that clued me in. In some sense, it was not even the presence of 4 moons. There was an explanation for why I was seeing more moons than there really are -- refraction in the upper atmosphere, the same phenomenon that makes stars twinkle, was by a rare chance bending the light of the moon to me from several different directions. I recognized that I was dreaming because I have seen odd moons, always with this same quasi-plausible explanation, in so many dreams before, ever since as a teenager I took an astronomy course at the local community college.
I had realized that I was dreaming in a handful of dreams before, but I always woke up immediately. In this case, though, I really wanted to wake up, but I couldn't. I felt sure that the presence I felt was preventing me. I went over to the light switch to turn it on, since everything in the room looked exactly (and creepily) the same as it did in the real, waking world. The light would not come on. As soon as I flipped the switch on, it would be off again -- it did not flip down again, it just was down again. This also felt like a deliberate act of the presence.
I think at this point I started praying in my dream. I also went to my stereo and put in a CD (which I still have) of Die Schoepfung (the Creation) by Haydn. After a few minutes, the music gets to the recitation of Genesis 1:3: (softly and slowly) "Und Gott sprach: Es werde Licht! Und ... es ... ward ... (loudly!) LICHT!" ("Let there be light" comes as almost a whisper, to show that the creation of the universe was not a hard thing for God.)
With the loud LICHT, I woke up in my real bed. I still had the creepy feeling, so I turned on all the lights (and they worked in the real world). I did the only thing I can do in a situation like this -- I read the Gospels until the feeling was gone, then I went back to sleep.
I dreamed I was back in the house I had grown up in, spending a sleepless night in my old bed. I had an opressive feeling that there was something uncanny nearby, maybe just outside the door to the bedroom (which was closed, and at the foot of the bed to the left) or in the carport. There was a window to the carport just over the middle of my bed on the right, but I was afraid to open the blinds and look out. All these details were accurate reflections of my old bedroom.
I awakened to find myself back in my room in Beltsville. I went to the sliding door to the balcony and looked out, since it was the only source of light, because I still had the creepy feeling that some malevolent presence was near. Outside was a peaceful scene of the sea lapping against the beach; on the sea were the reflections of about 4 moons.
At this point I knew I was still dreaming.
It was not the fact that my balcony was gone and the sliding door converted to just a big window nor the fact that Beltsville is nowhere near the sea that clued me in. In some sense, it was not even the presence of 4 moons. There was an explanation for why I was seeing more moons than there really are -- refraction in the upper atmosphere, the same phenomenon that makes stars twinkle, was by a rare chance bending the light of the moon to me from several different directions. I recognized that I was dreaming because I have seen odd moons, always with this same quasi-plausible explanation, in so many dreams before, ever since as a teenager I took an astronomy course at the local community college.
I had realized that I was dreaming in a handful of dreams before, but I always woke up immediately. In this case, though, I really wanted to wake up, but I couldn't. I felt sure that the presence I felt was preventing me. I went over to the light switch to turn it on, since everything in the room looked exactly (and creepily) the same as it did in the real, waking world. The light would not come on. As soon as I flipped the switch on, it would be off again -- it did not flip down again, it just was down again. This also felt like a deliberate act of the presence.
I think at this point I started praying in my dream. I also went to my stereo and put in a CD (which I still have) of Die Schoepfung (the Creation) by Haydn. After a few minutes, the music gets to the recitation of Genesis 1:3: (softly and slowly) "Und Gott sprach: Es werde Licht! Und ... es ... ward ... (loudly!) LICHT!" ("Let there be light" comes as almost a whisper, to show that the creation of the universe was not a hard thing for God.)
With the loud LICHT, I woke up in my real bed. I still had the creepy feeling, so I turned on all the lights (and they worked in the real world). I did the only thing I can do in a situation like this -- I read the Gospels until the feeling was gone, then I went back to sleep.
