It’s time to dream the scaffolding into place. And the rituals and the ideals that give them shape. It all begins with a story…a mythology about the journey into nine. About Miles Teg.

It’s time to start writing fiction as part of my weekly routine.

I’ve been guiding my son towards being a lucid dreamer since he was about three years old. Today I found out what a dreamer he’s become!

Check out this short video and prepare to be lucidly inspired! Also, the instructions on how to do it for yourself are pretty simple. Want to do it and then do it.

Here’s the Miles bio I wrote up:

Since he was born, Miles has always been very physical. He’s agile, and knows his body. A natural all-around kinesthetic learner, he picks up sports easily, processes language slowly, and is a fan of anything physical. He enjoys sports, competition, running around, and wrestling. When he comes out of his shell, he can be extremely affectionate. He’s been raised in an attachment parenting style and still sleeps in bed with me when at my house.

Miles has been raised inside of the mythology of the Buddha (that’s his nickname) and being a warrior and the codes and honor systems therein. He’s always had a proclivity towards all things driven by fighting – though for him there is no ill-intention, it’s just a fun way to play. Since he was about two, I’ve taught him to lucid dream. He now has a rich and vivid dream life (usually filled with battles) and regularly intends what he dreams on a given night.

Miles is also a strategist. He pays attention to systems and learns the points to apply pressure in order to get his outcomes.

Both his mother and I have been reading to Miles since he was 18 months old. We read every night and his greatest joy is fantasy with plenty of creatures. We’ve read hundreds of pages of Greek myths and have recently ventured into updated versions of those myths written for young adults by modern authors.

Miles intensely dislikes yelling. After his first day of first grade, when asked what he liked most about you, he said, “she doesn’t yell”. In this vein, he startles easily and sometimes takes a while to recover. He is working diligently with his mother and I to “use his words” when things upset him so that he can more quickly recover from emotional imbalances.

One of the concepts I use most often with Miles is the idea of resetting. So, if he gets off, I gently and firmly guide him back to the reset position. He is best at this when left alone. The more pressure from outside sources, the harder it is for him and the longer it takes.

Miles also loves animals. He’s got a gift when it comes to befriending them and is absolutely in love with creatures of all kinds. In addition to that he has a gentle heart. He tracks for fairness or the lack thereof and generally wants things to “be fair” – both for himself and others.

As for his hopes, I think Miles hopes that he will not be bored at school (his language, not mine) and will be able to play a lot. Truthfully, these are my hopes as well. I advocated strongly to get him into your class because of your reputation as being gentle, your background in Waldorf, and the brief MAC talk you gave at the end of the last school year. The note about snacks you sent home the first day of school was such a relief. Miles has loathed the fact that so many of his friends got candy and processed fruit snacks in their lunch boxes and all he got was “the natural, healthy not-yummy stuff”.

Miles: How do you know?

Me:  I just know what they like – and you’ve got it all my friend.

Miles: Well, I do climb up polls.

Well, he does.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Exhibit C

Tonight as all our dreams we frame,
Blow them in the candle flame.

Give us sweet dreams through the night,
Keep the bad dreams out of sight.

Lord Morpheus, hear our prayers,
Make us lucidly aware.

Each line is designed with intention. The first fixes our intended dreams and binds them into the flame of the candle. The flame becomes the frame for our dreams. We then invite in the good dreams and banish the unwanted. Finally, we call upon the lord of the Dreaming, Morpheus to grant us safe passage through his lands and bless us with lucidity. Upon blowing out the candle our intentions are blown into the fabric of the universe, stitching themselves into the night to come.

This morning Miles woke me up with a whisper, “Daddy, do you want to hear my dream?”

Groggily, “yes.”

“I was on a big frogs back and he was about to eat me but then i told him he was king because i remembered he told me to do that the last time i dreamed about him, so i did and he didn’t eat me.”

After deciphering what had transpired I smiled at the early signs of lucidity. My oneironaut’s training takes hold.

I looked at Jesse expectantly. “Well,” my eyebrows raised, “do I get a card or something?”

He had just anointed me as Jewish, honorarily.

The Bell Curve had recently been published and I had heard that Sephardic Jews were at the head of that pregnant statistical snake. Also, Jesse was the funniest person I knew. As far as I was concerned being Jewish was a badge of honor.

For as long as I can remember this has been the case. I have a lot of friends but the majority of my closest always seem to be non-practicing Jews.

Now apparently my magnetism to the Twelve Tribes has passed on to Miles.

From the back of the Nell’s car he says’ “Mommy, are we Jewish?”

Nell: “No”

Miles: “Why not? Am I Jewish?”

Nell: “Why do you ask?”

Miles: “Karen’s Jewish.”

Nell: “Okay.”

Miles: “So why aren’t I Jewish?”

Nell: “Miles’ you are so smart for your age.”

Miles: Cracks up to himself and says, “Well, that’s because I’m Jewish.”

The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of twilight
that revolves around you.

Speechless, my friend,
alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead
and filled with lives of fire,
and pure heir of the ruined day.

A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment.
The great roots of night
grow suddenly from your soul,
and the things that hide in you come out again
so that a blue and pallid people,
your newly born, takes nourishment.

Oh magnificent and fecund and magnetic slave
of the circle that moves in turn through black and gold:
rise, lead and possess a creation
so rich in life that its flowers perish
and it is full of sadness.

- Pablo Neruda

Studying the neurological developmental stages of children today i was more deeply impressed with the importance of imagination for children, especially during the massive mid-brain growth spurt occurring in 3-7 year olds. Now there is no denying, we need to exercise your imagination everyday.

The saddest thing is realizing something i could have been doing with you, but wasn’t.

“what are they made of Gwen?”

“Nightmares.”

Early on in the movie, Disney executed it’s trademark parent-killing scene and Mustafa was trampled to death by a wild herd of wildebeests. Soon, Simba looking on at his dead father, Karen turned around to the sound of sniffling to see a teary-eyed Miles.

Are you crying? she asked, surprised because she didn’t know that empathy started so young.