Long before I stumbled across A Course in Miracles, I had dreams that defied what I thought the mind could do.
I can’t remember when it was that I started dreaming I was reading books. I’d read for what seemed liked hours, and the book would be really good. Things would happen that I could never have anticipated. I’d eagerly turn the pages, in my dream, to find out what was going to happen next. I’d marvel at the masterful twist of the events, and the way the author hooked me in with rich descriptions and characters. I was able to lose myself in the writing, and ignore everything else that was happening around me.
Just as something astounding happened, but that was so perfect a plot twist that it tied in the narrative together, Boom! I’d wake up, marveling, replaying the scenes from the book in my mind as I did with a good movie.
Suddenly, in those twilight hours between wake and sleep, a question would strike me: Who wrote that book?
Who wrote that book? It certainly didn’t seem like it was me — the ideas were so well thought out. Plus, I had no idea what was going to happen. But isn’t that like most dreams? And if dreaming is of the subconscious mind, how did that mind come up a masterful story and then present it in a book form to me, the reader? And why did it do this?
Because these dreams didn’t fall into any of the usual categories in the dreams I was used to (fear-based, argumentative, boring), I was being shown a side to the mind that I didn’t know existed. Which led me to another question: Who was doing the showing?
