lucid dreaming

     Last week I got a call from the mother of a 15-year-old boy who was doing a science project and needed to interview a psychologist. As I always do, I hurried to explain* that I'm not a psychologist. Psychologists are very firm on your doing this quickly. They'd prefer if you wore a t-shirt during session that said, "I am not a psychologist and you are getting less than optimal care by seeing me." Bona fide psychologists get their fur up if anyone without a license as a psychologist calls themselves a you-know-what.
     It's all part of the pecking order, and if you are licensed as a measly clinical social worker or professional counselor, you get the beak. From psychologists who have fur. These are pecking creatures with fur, and they are the dominant species in the therapy biz. Except for psychiatrists, who prescribe medicine and whom we all think are Not Relational Enough, and aren't really doing The Work. We all use a lot of capital letters when we talk about each other.
     "Whatever," said the mom, which is usually the response (it's important that this be kept, however, from the psychologists). "Could he interview you? He needs to speak with a scientist."
     Ah. That there is no license for. Psychology, which I taught for quite a few years, is the scientific study of human behavior and mental processes. I love the science of it all; it highlights both our determination to figure people out and the limitations of our conclusions. Most studies should actually have longer "limitations" sections than "conclusions" sections. Anyway, I made an appointment for her kid to come in to talk with me because I am a scientist who works in the field of psychology. But not as a p*y*h*l*g*s*.
     The boy was doing a project on lucid dreaming, that fabulous state wherein you realize you are dreaming and then suddenly have the freedom and ability to do anything you want. Anything. Lucid dreaming happens in that place where you can kind of play with your unconscious mind, consciously; two things that don't usually blend suddenly do and you're in a different state altogether. It's like mixing blue and yellow and coming up with green. Remember learning about that as a kid? Whoa.
     "Have you ever had a lucid dream?" he reads from his script of questions.
     "Oh, yes, many times!" I answer with enthusiasm.
     I can tell by his facial expression that he himself has not. "You have?" I am to him someone who has actually seen a ghost, a unicorn, a martian. He is very excited. He scribbles something down, though he is videotaping our conversation.
     "What did you choose to do in your lucid dream?" he reads.
     I pause for a second and then say, "I usually choose to fly."
     This is durn close to the truth. Often when I become aware that I am dreaming, I choose to fly. Seize the moment, man! Up, up, and away! It's fabulous to fly in a dream, and I savor the memory for days.
     In the momentary pause, though, I was busy resisting the impulse to tell him the other truth: sometimes, lucid dreams are the perfect opportunity to have sex with a stranger. I thought better of telling that to this 15-year-old boy, right at the awakening of his own sexuality. Such a confession from a 57-year-old breastless woman might cause the tiniest shift in his mental picture of sex and sexuality, and not in a happy way. I just think it might ruin something, like inserting a glitch into a stem cell, or going flat early while singing an otherwise catchy song. I didn't want to accidentally show up in his first lucid dream, you know?
     Not long ago, I had a lucid dream in which I excitedly approached the first person I came across.
     "You're in my dream!" I nearly shouted at that person.
     "I know!" he or she answered, as tickled as I. I don't even remember if it was a man or a woman.
     ""LET'S HAVE SEX!!"" we both shouted with delight.
     Afterwards I thought, "I have the title to my book: You're in my dream! I know! Let's have sex!" 
     It turns out that I must have still been asleep when I had that thought, because in the light of day it didn't quite sound like something a publisher would go for.
     All that happened in my mind in the moment I took to muster a response to my young interviewer: "I usually choose to fly."
     Still! What fun, all around. I love being a scientist.


* Please ignore all the other asterisks in the word p*y*h*l*g*s*. They do not relate to footnotes. But when I think of "hurrying to explain" I think of the moose joke where the guy is heading to a costume party in a moose suit and is spotted by a hunter. "I'm not a moose! I'm not a moose!" he hurries to explain, waving his arms in alarm. The hunter looks confused and tilts his head to take this in. "I'm not a moose! I'm not a moose!" the guy in the costume shouts again. BANG. The hunter comes over to the guy whom, let's say, he has shot in the leg. "I am not a moooooose," the wounded guy whines. "Oh! Sorry, man," the hunter says. "I thought you were saying that you are a moose."