Why Lucid Dreaming Can Be Powerful

Lucid dreaming isn’t just about entertainment, although it’s certainly fun. It’s also a doorway into self-knowledge, creativity, and freedom.

Image by Ri Butov from Pixabay

This is about inner travelogues.

More than 30 years ago, I picked up Stephen LaBerge’s remarkable book Exploring the World of Lucid Dreaming and it changed the way I think about sleep, consciousness, and reality itself. The method I learned from it was simple, so simple that it almost felt like a game.

During the day, whenever I noticed anything with writing on it—a sign, a book spine, a billboard, a magazine cover—I’d look away, then quickly look back and ask myself, “Has that changed?” It sounds almost silly, but the point was to make that question such a habit that it carried over into my dreams.

After a few weeks of doing this, it did. One night in the middle of some dream about walking through a train station, I saw a sign with words on it. I looked away, then looked back, and sure enough the words had changed. In that instant I realized: I’m dreaming! The sudden awareness flooded through me and the world around me sharpened into vivid color. The air felt electric. I could feel my heartbeat, but there was no fear, just exhilaration. That was the first time I consciously took control of a dream.

Most often, when I realize I’m dreaming, I love to take off flying. My favorites are those dreams where I’m soaring like Superman, weaving through clouds or gliding just above treetops.

When Louise and I lived on a floating home in Portland, and later on a 46-foot boat in Washington, DC, the gentle rocking of the water beneath us seemed to trigger those dreams even more often. The movement of the bed at night stimulated my vestibular system, the part of the brain that senses balance and motion, and it felt as if my body was already halfway to flying. The moment I realized I was dreaming, I’d push off from the ground—or from the deck of the boat—and lift into the sky.

Right now, Louise and I are on a cruise ship (we’re theoretically on vacation for our 53rd anniversary, which was yesterday), and the motion of the ship trips me into lucid dreams, provoking me to write this article. (It’s one reason why we love cruising for vacations.)

Lucid dreaming became more than just a nighttime amusement. Once I was aware I was dreaming, I learned I could ask myself questions within the dream and get surprising answers. I’d ask things like “What’s the lesson here?” or “What do I need to understand?” Sometimes an image or voice would appear, sometimes I’d simply feel a kind of knowing. It wasn’t mystical so much as deeply personal, a conversation with a part of myself that didn’t need words. Once I was able to conjure my grandmother, who died when I was 7 years old, and have a conversation and loving reunion.

Over time I began to see how powerful this practice could be. You can use lucid dreaming to overcome fears by confronting them safely within a dream. You can practice public speaking, or flying a plane, or performing music.

Neuroscientists have found that rehearsing actions in dreams activates many of the same brain regions as actually doing them, which means you can literally get better at real-world skills while you sleep. Some people use lucid dreaming to heal from trauma by re-entering old memories and reframing them. Others use it for creative inspiration; Paul McCartney said that the melody for “Yesterday” came to him in a dream.

The doorway to all of that starts with awareness: training your waking mind to question reality. That’s why LaBerge’s technique is so effective. Every time you look away and back at a written word and ask “Has that changed?” you’re not only testing your environment; you’re training your brain to notice inconsistencies.

Dreams are full of inconsistencies. Text, clocks, and faces shift and blur, because the dreaming brain is creative but not especially detail-oriented. Once you start catching those glitches, you’ll know you’re dreaming.

When that moment of recognition happens, the key is not to get too excited. The first few times I woke myself up almost immediately just from sheer enthusiasm. Now, when I notice I’m dreaming, I take a deep breath and remind myself to stay calm. I look at my hands or the ground beneath me to stabilize the dream. Then I decide what to do next. Sometimes I fly, sometimes I walk through walls or explore landscapes that seem stitched together from memories and imagination. Sometimes I just talk to people I meet and see what they have to say.

One of the most interesting discoveries for me has been how real it all feels. The wind on my face during a flying dream, the texture of the ground, the sound of voices are all indistinguishable from waking life (other than their apparent impermanence).

That realization alone has taught me something profound about the nature of perception. If my mind can create an entire world in such detail while I sleep, how much of what I experience while awake is also filtered through my own expectations and beliefs? Lucid dreaming becomes a kind of meditation on reality itself.

There are other benefits, too. People who practice lucid dreaming often report better sleep quality, less anxiety, and a greater sense of agency in their waking lives. It’s as if learning to steer your dreams also teaches you to steer your thoughts during the day. For me, it’s given me a deeper appreciation for the continuity between waking and dreaming consciousness. Both are parts of one ongoing conversation between the self I think I am and the deeper or even universal mind that seems to know more than I do.

If you want to try it yourself, start small. Each time you see writing—a street sign, a headline, the cover of a cereal box—look away, then look back and ask, “Has that changed?” Do it several times a day until it becomes second nature. Keep a notebook by your bed and jot down your dreams when you wake up.

Within a few weeks, you’ll probably find that question slipping into your dreams. The first time the words change and you realize you’re dreaming, take a breath. Smile. Then, if you like, lift off and see where the sky takes you.

Lucid dreaming isn’t just about entertainment, although it’s certainly fun. It’s also a doorway into self-knowledge, creativity, and freedom. The part of you that dreams is the same part that imagines and creates while you’re awake.

When you learn to navigate that space consciously, you’re exploring the frontiers of your own mind. And for me, there’s still nothing quite like that first rush of realizing I’m airborne, looking down at a world that feels utterly real, knowing I built it all inside my own head.