Message: We All Die

Week 4 of the lucid dream course and still no lucid dreams. I’ve pretty much accepted that I won’t become lucid. I sleep too deeply and if I become even slightly lucid I tend to wake up immediately. 


Bloody Pad

I’m in a house. There are light, bright colors inside. There is a couple in a bedroom. The bed linens are white and the colors of the room are pastel yellow and blue. The couple invites me to have a threesome with them. I am distracted by my current state. Embarrassed, I tell them I can’t because I am on my period. I go into a bathroom to clean up. I’m wearing a pad and it is all bloody, the blood on my inner thighs (releasing negative emotions) is crusty. I clean vigorously. 

Visit from Grandaddy

I am being shown house plans. Someone is asking me about the slope of the roof and pointing out an area that might need correction. My focus is on the roof slope and I see what is being pointed out but am unconcerned. It is in the attic (ignored emotions). I say, “Don’t go in the attic. It’s a mess.” 

Then I am inside an old house (past self). It is small and constructed of wood, distressed and faded from the years. I am sitting with my grandfather who is showing me a story I wrote for him when I was 10 years old. There are pictures and it is stapled to look like a book. In the dream I am trying to remember the book and only have  a vague recollection. He says it is from 1987. I can’t recall what he looked like now but in the dream he was younger than I knew him in life. It felt good to see him and be with him. He hands me the book to keep and I don’t want it. He asks me why and I say, “Because it means you will die.” He says to me, “We all do [die]”. I begin to cry.

Then I am out of the old house looking at it from the outside. I see the house is two parts, like divided into two separate houses (old/new). I go back to the side where I had just seen my grandfather. I open the door and look inside, calling his name. He isn’t there. Inside is very bright, as if the lights are all on, and the color is a soft white with a yellowish hue. Realizing he is gone I yell into the house, “Thank you, Grandaddy!” I don’t go inside the house because the door knob isn’t working properly. I want to go inside and look for him but don’t, thinking, “I might get locked inside.” I begin to cry.

The last thing I remember is being in the newer side of the house. I am standing in the kitchen with a mop preparing to clean the floor. I explain the importance of cleaning with soap and then rinsing with water. I begin mopping (releasing the old, releasing the past) the floor.

I wake up, blink, and have a load of tears come out of my eyes. It takes me a while to return to sleep.


I am in a car stuck in traffic (feeling stuck). Behind me there is commotion and a loud noise. I look and see a sports car coming at me too fast. I brace myself for impact but he slams on his breaks and his car spins to face the opposite direction. A larger car is coming at him fast. The sports car hits the other car and gets partially stuck underneath it. My car is slightly bumped (impacted by others, feeling out of control) but otherwise not damaged.

I get out of my car to check on the occupants of the two cars. The man in the sports car is fine, only concerned about his car. The man in the other car is dazed. I asked them both if they are okay and they both say they are. I even ask if I should call 911 but they say no. 

Then the highway turns into a large, school cafeteria (spiritual sustenance). It is crowded with people sitting at the tables. I am taken to the farthest back table where I sit down. It feels like a conference of some kind. Everyone is waiting to be served the meal. They server brings trays of food to my table last. A woman next to me pokes the rolls, which are cold and hard (ideas that no longer work). I do the same, putting butter on them to try and make them softer (giving life to old ideas). She says something to the man who brought her the food but he just shrugged. I say, “This is why I don’t sit at the back table.” 

The same woman is watching a woman up at the front. She is saying critical things about her. I end up walking up the side of the room towards the front to observe the woman. She is complaining about something. I talk above the group, loud enough for everyone to hear. It is like I am giving a speech. The words that come out are well said but I can’t recall them now. I do remember I say something about coming from the heart and it taking courage. When I say the word, “courage”, I burst into tears.

I wake up and blink out tears but am not crying. 


I haven’t seen my grandfather in my dreams in a long time.  We had a strong connection in life and he use to visit me often in dreamtime. So, it was nice to see him. I find it interesting that he gives me a book I made for him. There is a faint memory of being shown such a book by my grandmother after he died. I do remember a spiral notebook I was shown from when I was in 5th grade that was full of such stories and drawings. I think my mom gave it to me.

The reminder that we all die is similar to my recent dream about checking out. For some reason this message is repeating. 

The last dream seems to be me sending a message to myself about courage, following my heart and using my voice. When I woke from this dream I thought about a realization and subsequent decision I made to “keep my mouth shut”. I have taken note of how people react to me when I speak. Most of the time they have a negative reaction. Sometimes they act annoyed, other times their face looks pained, but often they just ignore me. I speak without an invitation, therefore, the reaction is understandable. So, my decision was/is to keep silent until asked to contribute. 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s