When lucid, many of us enjoy transforming our dream environment at will. But how
often do we think to transform dream bodies? This month I am pleased to present
"My Mutable Dream Body" by Linda Lane Magallon.
MY MUTABLE DREAM BODY
(c) Linda Lane Magallon
The lucid dreamscape is obviously mutable and that fascinates me. But I
didn't think to experiment with the flexible form of my own dream body until the
repeated comments from a couple of dream characters suggested that possibility
I become lucid crossing a street to walk up the sidewalk along the grass in
front of a multistory university building. Down the alley I see a couple of
professors talking to one another. I stride toward them with the intent to speak
with them but they finish their discussion and hurry away. Under the eaves to
the right are two more men. I turn and walk towards them. The grey haired man is
speaking as I approach.
Feeling the pressure of time (a lucid dream doesn't last long!), I interrupt
him and say, "Excuse me, but I need to talk to someone." Finally he
stops conversing. His younger brown-haired companion turns to look in my
direction. "It appears that this is a dream," I say. Yet, as I gaze
fixedly at the younger man, I realize that he's as clear and real as anybody in
"A dream?" he retorts, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. I
know from past dreams that trying to convince him is an exercise in futility. So
I decide to take a different tact. "Have you ever known of anyone who held
the same viewpoint?" I ask.
"Well, yes," he replies, "The uniforms do."
"The uniforms?" I ask. I wonder if he's referring to people who
wear regimental clothing.
"Yes, the uniforms," reemphasizes a dark-haired Caucasian woman who
has appeared to his right. Suddenly I understand what they are talking about.
"Oh, you mean uni-FORMS, shapes, people that retain the same
outline." What an interesting thought - they must be people who are so
closely identified with the earth ego that they don't realize they can
shape-change in this environment. At any rate, the woman seems to be inferring
that I'm one of the "uniforms," but she's a shape-changer. Oh, yeah? I
"So I can put my hand through your arm," I say and reach out, grab
her right arm with my left hand, and begin to pass my right hand through her arm
in a slicing motion.
"Ouch!" she yelps. My hand is stopped halfway - as though my
fingers have passed through the muscle but are being resisted by the bone. Oh
great! - I think - I'm going to be stuck in this woman's arm! So I concentrate
to complete the job, closing my eyes in the process. It feels as though my hand
goes through several layers and out the bottom. When I open my eyes, the woman
appears to be Black. I'm still holding onto her arm.
"Now you try with my arm," I invite her. She hesitates. "Go
ahead, you can do it. It's just a belief."
"A belief?!" she exclaims with disbelief.
The woman didn't take my suggestion that she experiment with the malleability
of my dream body. But that invitation remained open to other dream characters.
Proud Out-Of-Body Traveler
When the dream springs up, I find myself in a large living room. I converse
with the people around me. There's serious conversation but I perch myself
casually on the thick arm of one of the long sofas. I ask the young
blonde-haired girl seated next to me, "What year is this for you?"
"1984," she replies. "1984?!" I repeat, excited. This
means I can question her about the future because I'm from 1982...or am I? I
concentrate to remember. No, I'm not, I mentally correct myself. "Oh, for
me it's 1988," I say.
I get off the edge of the couch and go round the young woman to sit next to
and converse with an older, grey haired woman. She asks me some very pointed
questions, listening to my responses with a frown. Then I watch her get up and
go sit down with the women on the sofa at a 90 degree angle to mine. She gives a
report to them about me, with some men on the opposite sofa listening too. After
they discuss what I've said, a couple of women state matter-of-factly that
someone like me (from the outside) could be an unsettling influence on their
At this, I exclaim to all within hearing distance, "I'm very proud of
being an out-of-body traveler!" After all, it takes a lot of concentration
on my part just to be here. I think I should be congratulated, instead of
criticized or constrained.
Convinced that talk will get me nowhere, I decide upon action instead. I walk
out to the middle of the adjoining room, which is as large as a convention hall.
A group of younger people gather round me as I begin to chat with them. As with
all the people in this dream, they are dressed in colorful clothes (I remember
lots of bright primary colors, especially purple, as well as ornate brocades). I
am trying to tell them that the imagery in this place is unusually flexible -
not fixed like they all expect. To prove my point, I impulsively perform a very
"Look," I say to a shorter, Black young woman. "I can put my
arm into you." I do, directly into her solar plexus. "Yikes!" she
responds, automatically pulling in her stomach. But I've moved so fast, my fist
is already inside her. With the speed of molasses, I continue pushing my hand
through her and out the other side. I can feel the layers of muscle and bone as
my hand and then arm go right through. I end up with my fist out her backside so
those behind can see.
"Hey," I hear an excited voice say behind me, "My shoulder
passes right through hers!" I turn slightly to my left and see out of the
corner of my eye the courageous young man who, following my lead, has attempted
this feat using me as the target.
(Interestingly, I haven't felt it much. It's certainly not painful, more like
someone softly brushing against me with a bunch of feathers.) His voice and the
voices of his friends rise in a ripple of amazement. Great! I turn back and
withdraw my arm from the young woman, who is none the worse for wear.
Now the young people really crowd around, peering directly at me and making
conversation. I especially recall the face of a young dark-haired Caucasian man
with glasses who looks like he's from the 50's. Suddenly, I get an intuitive
impression of just who these people might be. I turn and walk with the young
blonde-haired woman (who I met at the beginning of the dream). "Are you
dead?" I ask. "What's the last date you remember?"
"September 25th," she replies. "What year?" I ask again,
but she doesn't respond because now she's walking so fast, she outdistances me.
Through one of several glass doors, all opened in a row she goes, along with her
companions. As if heeding some inner call, they're herding together, pouring out
of the convention center and across the street to a circular structure.
I follow for a ways but stop far behind, watching the group enter the building
which is on a slight hill. Off to my left, under an overhang and by a concrete
wall are two men dressed in guard uniforms. I walk over to them. "Where are
they all going?" I ask.
"We'd rather not tell you right now," one of the blonde haired men
replies. The other almost seems his twin, although I don't get a very good look
at him. Unusual for me, I don't start to argue or complain about this delaying
tactic. Instead, I ask, "Are there any guides or maps for out-of-body
travelers around here?"
"Yes," one of the two replies. "Could I have one,
please?" I request. They turn to look up the street toward the building. My
gaze follows theirs. I hear one of them call, so softly that it might be
telepathy, "Marilyn!" With that, a woman who has been hanging out on
the sidewalk starts my way. So do her two companions, a man and a woman. What a
comical twist: instead of guide booklets, they understood me to mean people who
The man arrives first, dancing on either side of me, like a jester, in
clothes that keep changing. The other woman seems to have the same rather
irritating behavior. However, the woman who has been called comes directly down
the sidewalk. As she nears me, her appearance takes on that of a portly woman
with curly, mid-length blonde hair. Her garment is a robe brocaded with ornate
black designs. The white background to her robe pulses into a brilliant glow
which I know comes from within. "Wow," I exclaim.
Then, as if in response to my awe, her appearance immediately changes into a
darker-haired woman whose clothes seem made of sandy-colored burlap, though
there is still a square of colorful brocade on her chest. Amused at this
transformation, I respond, "Hey, that's pretty tricky!" Together, we
turn and go back up the hill.
The penetration and reconstitution of the dream body wasn't yet obvious to
me. I got the closest view of those visual effects in this dream.
Hand Through Limbs
I become lucid in a small living room occupied by two women: an older grey
haired one and one slightly younger. I get the feeling they're related to each
other. When I ask, "What's your name?" the youngest does tell me hers.
I respond, "My name's Linda Magallon." The older woman nods and
echoes, "Linda," about the same time I say it, continuing, "I
Because I've had some trouble saying my name, the younger woman talks about
"clearing." I realize I have that old mush-in-my-mouth feeling and
reach in three times to remove it. The substance is blue in color and has a
I wake and though I'm a little stiff, I direct myself back into dreaming
without changing my body position. I quickly get to the voices-in-the-dark level
of consciousness where I hear two children, a boy and a girl, arguing with one
another. "Hello," I think towards them, "Can you hear me?"
The darkness shifts and a lucid dream scene springs up again. To my surprise,
I find myself standing on my hands, upside down, as if preparing to push off and
levitate. Across the room (seen upside down, of course) is a color television
showing "Star Trek." I can hear Captain Kirk's voice.
I let myself down to the floor and turn around. There is no TV anywhere and
the room is dead quiet! Somehow, from this position, there's been a change in my
surroundings. The room looks smaller and bluer than before. Since the two women
(from the first dream) aren't around, I figure I must be focused in a different
level of consciousness. Without moving I try to refocus to where they exist by
remembering them via their feeling tones.
The scene blurs and springs up again bright and warm. I did it! I walk out of
the front room, towards the kitchen and encounter the younger woman. Now what
was her name? Jessica? Jezebel? Didn't it have a "Jerri" in it? I
consider asking her directly, "Now, what was your name?" but decide
against it. I finally remember that it's "Jerrica."
We walk to the hallway between living area and kitchen. I notice a roll-away
cart with a microwave oven, crockery and books piled on it. I ask Jerrica,
"What is this place?"
"It's like Columbus' cinnamon," I think I hear her say.
"A cinnamon for Columbus?!" I repeat, grinning at the absurdity.
Then I realize she has a slight European accent which probably slurred the word.
"Oh, you mean synonym! I wonder what a synonym for Columbus would be?
Jerrica doesn't respond, so I walk into the modern kitchen where the older
woman is working. Suddenly I get the inspiration to demonstrate my degree of
lucidity to the two women. "Look at what I can do to my astral body!"
I tell them.
As they gather round to see, I take my right hand and try to push it directly
through my left arm. The skin indents and then allows my hand to go through. My
fingers feel as if they are passing through different layers, slightly different
textures, but they don't encounter the resistance of hard bone. As for my arm,
there's not much more sensation than the pressure I'd feel if I were to press my
hand against the skin (in waking life). I roll my arm over and observe my
fingers exiting the other side of it. All fingers save my second finger
reemerge. It is bent over? I try to feel it by wiggling my hand inside my arm. I
notice that my index finger has a long, sculpted fingernail, unlike my blunt
nails of waking life. Also, the fingers have a purple cast.
The older woman frowns as if thinking hard. "How many years have you
been doing that?" she asks me.
"How many years?" I reply, "I'm not sure. If I try to
concentrate, you know what happens to a dream!" In fact the energy effort
of conversing does cause the scene to mist, but fortunately I am able to pull it
Then I lift my left leg, reach down and pass my right hand into it just above
the calf muscle and below the bone. I notice with amusement that, unlike
physical life, my dream leg is hairy and has dark freckles. But it is just as
glaring white as in waking life. The older woman starts tapping on the upper
side of my leg. "Not the bone," I caution her, knowing from past dream
experience that it's harder to pass through bone than muscle. When I withdraw my
hand from my leg, I can see it takes a while for the pucker to disappear. Also,
there is a glistening of moisture as if it came from the interior of the leg.
Does anyone know a synonym for Columbus? :-)
(Read more of Linda's dream adventures at her web site, The Dream Explorer http://members.aol.com/psiflyer/dream/explorer.html
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