While I sleep, I'm no longer weighted down by the physical and am free to explore different realms. This is when I am at my most vulnerable, so it's vital that my surroundings be quiet and safe. Because being awakened abruptly from a dream feels wrenching—as if I've been yanked out of a room in the middle of a conversation with someone—I do everything in my power to prevent it. I have a strong nesting instinct and like to create a snug environment for my dreaming. This is why when I travel, adjusting to a strange hotel room, no matter how luxurious, is often difficult for me. My dreams, as a result, tend to be erratic and sketchy, harder to recall. The familiarity of my bedroom, the softness of my pillow, the warmth of my down comforter, make it easier for me to settle into a peaceful sleep.
Every morning, whether I'm traveling or at home, I spend at least a few minutes retrieving my dreams from the previous night and writing them down. Before I'm fully alert, I lie still, with my eyes closed, collecting my dream images. This is such an automatic part of my morning routine that I rarely even think about it. The tricky part is recording a dream that surfaces in the middle of the night. If I get up long enough to turn on the bedside lamp and enter the dream into my journal, I can have trouble falling back to sleep. I have tried to program myself to hold on to the dream until the next day by fixing its details in my mind, but this doesn't always work. Sometimes I compromise by scribbling down a key word or phrase, using a small penlight to see, hoping I'll be able to make sense of it in the morning. But since for me dreams are too important to miss, on these occasions—they occur only every few weeks—I usually decide to wake up completely and, if necessary, sacrifice the sleep.
If you also have trouble going back to sleep you might try a voice-activated tape recorder. I have friends who find this method less disruptive than having to write something down. Keep the machine close so without even opening your eyes or turning on a light you can tape your dreams. Then simply transcribe them in the morning. Recorders aren't an ideal substitute for a journal, though. For you to refer easily to your dreams they need to be organized chronologically and written down.
Some nights I remember as many as five vivid dreams; on others I retrieve none. Each of us has his or her own unique pattern. There are cycles to out dreams, a natural ebb and flow. During winter, a time of dormancy and the coldest, darkest season of the year, I'm less physically astute and my dreams are more difficult to recall. I can often sense them hovering in the distance, beyond an invisible boundary. The harder I try to grasp on to them, however, the more elusive they become. Since dreams ate so important to me, I feel at a loss without them, as if I've gone partially blind. But even when I'm in a dormant part of my cycle or have no awareness of my dreams, there are effective ways of stimulating these memories.
Mark couldn't remember his dreams. A talented literary agent who worshiped creativity, he thought that he was missing out on something and came to me to find it. Every morning his wife would launch into a detailed account of her dreams of the night before, which sounded like a Steven Spielberg adventure movie. When Mark woke up, his mind was completely blank. I suggested that he start a dream journal.
“How can I keep a journal when I don't even dream?” he asked.
“The point of starting a journal,” I told him, “is to honor your intentions, to give yourself permission to dream. It doesn't matter how much you remember. Just date it and write it down. A line, a color, a shape, a few key words, a fragment. Any clues that give you something to work with. Don't worry about how unimportant they might seem. Just record them immediately, before you do anything else, so they don't get lost.”
“But how do I begin?” Mark needed a concrete plan.
“Before you go to sleep, shut your eyes and ask for a dream. Something inside of you will hear it and respond.”
“What if nothing happens and I don't dream at all?”
“Don't give up,” I encouraged him. “It might take a while. Just keep at it and you will.”
Mark took this as a challenge. He was eager to start. Rather than randomly writing on loose scraps of paper or including his dream images in already used notebooks, at my suggestion he bought a hardbound journal. It's important to have a special designated place to log them. This journal was off limits to his wife, and she respected that. It became his confidential diary, exclusively devoted to recording his dreams, a forum for them to speak.
Each night, Mark would make his request and then drift off, hoping for the best. For the first week, he couldn't recall a single thing; the journal remained empty. Puzzled, I asked him about his sleep habits. He told me he was one of those people who put their heads on the pillow, go right to sleep, and in the morning jump straight out of bed like a bullet. By six Mark would be glued to the phone, making his early New York calls.
“You're getting up so fast you're losing your dreams,” I said. “Rest there for a while with your eyes shut. See what comes. The secret is to prolong what's known as the hypnogogic state, the period between sleep and waking. It's a magical time when you're consciously aware of your dream images but are still not quite alert.”
“Is there anything I should specifically do?”
“Simply lie relaxed and still,” I said. “Images will form. Gently focus on them and watch where they take you. You don't have to force anything. Try to remain a detached observer. The images will pull you along. At first they may seem disconnected or fleeting. But eventually a scenario will emerge. It's like watching the replay of a movie. You can actually see your dreams enacted all over again. The difference is that now you're actively witnessing them and can choose at any point to open your eyes and write them down.”
Fighting his instincts, Mark didn't leap out of bed anymore. He was doing everything right but still got no results. Finally, after a few weeks, he became aware of some snapshot-like dream images. One day he was surprised to see a face flash before him—his favorite grandmother, who had died when he was nine. Excited, he didn't wait for what came next and noted it in his journal. Another time, he saw an image of himself as a young boy holding a small cocker spaniel, his beloved childhood dog. Watching it closely, it led him into a dream in which he and the dog were lost in some strange town far away from home. At first these images and dreams seemed disjointed, but he persisted, diligently recording each entry. Over the next few months, the isolated pictures began to connect and reveal the loneliness and loss Mark suffered as a child after his grandmother died. Recalling this, he was now able to express the grief he never allowed himself to feel before.
Mark didn't dream in epic proportions as his wife did, but he had found his own natural style, analogous to the simple elegance of a Japanese haiku poem. Some people's dreams are like seventy-millimeter Technicolor movies. Others recall only fragments or single scenes. The form, dramatic quality, or length is not where the value lies. The act of recovering the information and your ability to utilize it are what determine the worth of the images.
From a purely psychological perspective dream journals are a priceless archive. With your dreams down on paper you can unearth important events in your life that you'd forgotten about, as Mark did. Or you can piece together unconscious negative patterns in yourself so you can take the necessary action to change. You are able to monitor your own growth in dreams, gauging the progress you make in your journal, acknowledging the healing that occurs.
For years a patient of mine kept dreaming that she was back in college at Berkeley in the sixties, wandering through the campus desperately trying to locate something she'd lost. No matter how hard she searched, she never found it. Now in her late forties, a divorced high-school math teacher who led a fairly quiet life, she yearned for the freedom and sense of adventure she once had in school. These dreams were telling her that she had left a cherished part of herself behind and needed to reclaim it. Once she actively took steps to create that same freedom in her present life—becoming more politically active, taking vocal stands on social issues, and expanding her circle of friends—the dream became less frequent and finally stopped. It was last mentioned in her journal over a year ago.
In keeping a dream journal, we not only chronicle the patterns of our unconscious, we can also begin to pinpoint and make use of our psychic dreams. Our journals play a dynamic role. They house the psychic guidance we request to live our lives well so the knowledge we gain can't be lost, misinterpreted, or forgotten. They're a living testament to the healing we receive in dreams, so that we can remember and make full use of this healing. Containing concrete evidence of our future predictions, our journals enable us to correlate our dreams with an actual event when it takes place. By logging our dreams, we can often tell at once which are accurate and practically apply this newly identified psychic material.
Several years ago, my boyfriend left me for another woman. I was crushed. I would have done anything to make the relationship succeed. I kept thinking to myself, I wish we'd get back together again, as if repeating it like a mantra would make it come true. I was working myself into a frenzy, but he wasn't interested in coming back. I knew that it was best to be apart because I wanted a committed relationship and he didn't, but I was obsessed. One evening I asked for a dream to show me a way out of this mess.
At three o'clock one morning, in the midst of a huge thunderstorm, I awoke with a seven-digit West Hollywood phone number rolling around in my head. I was dead tired, but since I rarely picked up numbers psychically in my dreams, I knew I needed to jot this one down. I switched on the overhead light, reached for my journal, and noted it.
The following morning I dialed the number with no idea what I would do if someone answered. After two rings, a woman picked up the phone and said, “Together Again Productions. Can I help you?”
I thought this was some kind of a joke. “Excuse me,” I asked, “can you tell me what your company does?”
In a perfunctory tone, she replied, “We're a television production company. We make ‘Movies of the Week.' “
Barely able to keep from laughing, I said, “Sorry, I must have the wrong number,” and hung up the phone.
Although my boyfriend and I never did get back together again, the dream interjected a touch of cosmic humor. Having received an unexpected response to my request, I took it as a personal message to lighten up, to stop taking everything so seriously. This was the gentle nudge I needed to remind me to go on with my life. If I hadn't made the effort to transcribe the phone number, I would have missed out.
Once we document our dreams, it may be obvious which are actually psychic, or it may take weeks, months, or even years to confirm. For instance, in the early eighties I had a dream that I was director of a medical clinic. The building, which I could see vividly, was actually one I had often passed on Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica, a one-story faded pink stucco structure built in the fifties, at that time leased to an acupuncture college. The dream was so clear that it felt psychic to me, but there was nothing to suggest my connection to the building. I noted the specifics in my journal, dated the entry, and labeled it with a special star, as I do with all dreams that I suspect are psychic. You may also do this to organize your journal better and save time trying to locate a dream. In this instance, it was seven years later that, to my great surprise, I found myself about to start running a substance-abuse recovery clinic in the very same building.
A journal is an ideal way to keep track of your psychic dreams. Although you may have a hunch that a dream is psychic, if it isn't validated right away, there's a tendency for you to forget about it. This is less likely if you write it down. Then when the incident you dreamed of later takes place, you can review your notes and determine which elements were “on” or “off.” Your dream journals provide you with reinforcing feedback, so essential to the cultivation of the psychic, giving you confidence to develop and grow.
To start your own dream journal, I suggest that you go out to your favorite bookstore and browse through the journal section. There are many kinds that you can purchase: leather, linen, colorful cotton prints, some with pictures of dolphins, foxes, or bears on the cover, others decorated with star maps or pressed flowers or gorgeous nature scenes. Pick out the one that most appeals and inspires you to write down your dreams. Place it right beside your bed with a pen attached so that you can conveniently reach it when you wake up. Keep with it a small penlight or voice-activated tape player if you have to record a dream during the night. This is your private notebook, which no one else should touch. You need to feel safe to record every uncensored nuance of your dreams—even the most embarrassing, awkward, and revealing segments. It would be pointless to omit these portions out of fear that you'll offend or shock someone else. This journal is just for you. No one should read it unless you explicitly give permission. Also, cherish the time you spend retrieving your dreams. Those few moments in the morning, while you lie suspended between sleep and waking, are sacred. Protect them from interruptions. In this state, you are in direct communication with both the seen and unseen realms.
Remembering dreams is unearthing that which is underground, giving it breath and life. When our dreams and the everyday world merge, there's a seamless continuity of experience, dissolving the illusions of division and separateness. Once this is achieved, we begin to speak a new language that translates into many aspects of our lives. We feel an ease, a communion with the psychic that allows it to settle, to make a nest for itself. No longer an occasional guest, the psychic has taken its rightful place in our homes.
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Recognize what is right before your eyes, and what is hidden will be revealed to you.