Originally published 111323

1978

I was the designer at a commercial sign shop in the Central Valley.

No mountains. No hills. California’s (fertile) version of Flatland.

First job after college.

Three guys owned the company.

A former gang-banger (who spent four years in San Quentin) ran the front office.

A former drug dealer (who financed the venture) ran the silkscreen shop.

And Merle. I don’t remember his story, but he and his two nephews had mad skills and could fabricate anything I designed.

Merle (and kin) also got high during morning, lunch, and afternoon breaks.

??!

The salesman used my plans and renderings to close deals, and he brought in more leads every day.

One morning, Merle invited me to join them at break.

I pointed at the projects I hadn’t yet begun, “I can’t.”

He shook his head, “We don’t get high to get wasted. We get high to focus on our work.”

??!

I still declined (trying to be responsible), but couldn’t shake what Merle had said.

I had years of experience and knew that getting high didn’t work that way.

But their work spoke for itself.

What if…?

1979

I sat down to watch the Einstein special (026) with chips and salsa, a beer and a bong, a pen and a notepad, and an open mind.

What is real? would become the critical question that night.

Dreams seem real. How real are they?

I thought about flying dreams. I love to fly. Is that what it really feels like?

And snake nightmares. They seemed horribly real. Sometimes, I’ve been able to wake myself (It’s only a dream!) before the worst of it begins.

Realization: I’d known I was dreaming from within the nightmare.

Could I become aware within other types of dreams?

I made a list of all the things that seemed to happen only in dreams.

When this happens, I’m dreaming.

Okay, then what?

Goal: Test your senses. How real is the dream?

What about juggling? Why do I enjoy it even though I drop the balls so often?

And music. I can’t sing, dance, or play an instrument, but I love rock. Why?

Okay, then what?

Goal: Find a way to juggle to music.

A few other goals fell onto the pages during that life-altering evening.

Merle, I can’t thank you enough.

As for me, I’m often told, who’m I to disagree
Time to join the real world, stop playing make believe
They say I should know better, let’s see if they’re all right
Make believe that we can see, what real worlds are like
Just for fun we can pretend, there’s treasure to be found
Gold doubloons in living rooms, if riddle is unwound

Questions (sometimes) lead to answers.

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Context: Documenting the journey has proven invaluable. Getting high isn’t required.

Who would design a house with such a ridiculously wide hallway?

Though it wasn’t explicitly on my list of you’re dreaming clues, that was the first time I (intentionally) woke within a dream. Looking at my hands, opening and closing them, wiggling my fingers, relishing the authentic sensations, I thought, What was it I wanted to do? Oh yeah. I rushed to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a small glass jar of French’s Mustard. The jar was cold, the mustard yellow. I unscrewed the top and brought it to my nose. I dipped a finger and tasted. “It’s real! It’s real!” I shouted, throwing my arms in the air while jumping up and down, accidentally waking myself.

You know how sometimes you’re you in a dream, and sometimes you watch yourself? Well, I got lucky and discovered the thing with the hands. That helps me lock in the first-person experience. I also went in with a plan. I have no idea why I ran to the kitchen (or how I knew where it was), but I remembered and remained focused: How real is the dream? Test your senses. That kind of focus (with an evolving plan) led to longer lucid adventures.

Oh, and juggling to music? Countless hours of bliss (despite all the drops).

Update: The Nova episode aired on March 15, 1979. My recollection has been a day off all these years. (I love that Einstein’s birthday falls on Pi Day.)

Featured Image: Yes, I’m well aware that it’s real if it seems to be real (026) runs headlong into that quote. The cognitive dissonance keeps me on my (perceptual) toes.

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