Sleepwalking

Have you ever wondered what your soul does when you’re sleeping?

Does it sleep too? Does it join your body and mind in some dark, unknown slumber? Or does it dance? While your body lies dormant and resting, does your soul float across the skies? Does it pass through portals? Frolic through realms? Converse with the stars? Is there any way to know?

What are dreams?

If psychology and the mindset of the general population are to be believed, dreams are merely a figment of our imagination. A series of images and events that our brains use to decompress and make sense of our emotions and experiences.

But what if they’re not?

If certain facets of spiritualism are to be believed, dreams are memories of our soul’s experiences in other realms while our bodies are sleeping. Sometimes, when lucid dreaming, a person can become conscious, aware, and connected to the soul’s galactic travels as they’re happening.

I’m not sure which of these schools of thought I’m more apt to believe, maybe some combination of the two. Considering I’m blessed - or cursed, depending on how you look at it - not only to frequently remember my dreams, but also frequently become aware while dreaming, I’m leaning more towards a combination of the two.

Currently? I am dreaming. How do I know that I’m dreaming?

I don’t…know.

It’s not that I don’t know, it’s that I don’t know how to explain it. I remember falling asleep. I remember falling asleep, but I don’t remember waking up. If I don't remember waking up, I’m still sleeping. I’m in a dream.

Or in another Universe.

I physically shudder as the thought enters my brain. Let’s seal that can of worms for the moment, please. I’m very open to the idea of other realms, planes, and universes. I have no doubts that my soul probably does go off and do all kinds of shit while my body’s asleep. But do I want to practically be present for it? Do I want to travel to other planes and dimensions?

The truth is…I don’t know. I’ve most definitely thought about it and, because of my habit of lucid dreaming, have experienced it - but I’d rather experience it by my choice, not by some accident. But alas, here we are. Again.

I close my eyes. I’m not trying to wake myself up - I know that would be pointless - instead, I’m trying to get myself centered in my current spiritual body and anchored with an energetic cord to my physical body, which is lying safely asleep in my bed. I follow the golden flow of energy from my physical body off across dimensions until suddenly it’s gone. I step forward, eyes still closed, and feel an energetic tug in the center of my back, as if attached to the back of my heart. I’ve found my spiritual body.

I focus on my feet first. I’m barefoot. The ground is cool and grassy beneath my feet. There’s a breeze, a slight chill in the air, but not enough to make me uncomfortable. I open my eyes to find I’m on a lush, green hillside, with ocean waves crashing off in the distance. I don’t know where I am and by all sense of logic, I’ve never been here before - but I can’t shake the feeling of remembering. I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but I’ve been here before.

I turn away from the oceanside and see a wooded forest. It’s nightfall, not exactly an ideal time to go wandering off into an unknown forest in some unknown world. I almost debate heading towards the ocean, but a flash of glowing orange catches my attention. Brows furrow in a squint as I gaze into the dark treeline and see a pair of fiery orange eyes staring back at me. The owner of the eyes, a large fox, comes inching out towards me, beckoning me to follow.

I don’t hesitate, immediately starting towards the forest to follow the glowing trail that the mystical fox is leaving in her wake. I’ve been here before. Memories come in flashes as my legs follow a familiar path. The forest looks thicker, more dense from the outside than it is on the inside - or at least for those who are invited. Any trespassers set foot in Freyja’s Forest and they’ll find themselves tripping and fumbling through thorny branches, lurching roots, falling deeper and deeper into a treacherous labyrinth from which they’ll never escape.

It feels like no time until I’ve reached a clearing, presumably at the center of the woods. There’s an impossibly tall, roaring fire in the center, massive trees whose height could rival skyscrapers, circling it. The fox has disappeared. Before me stands a tall, fair-skinned woman adorned in a dress whose color matches the foliage around us. Draped over her shoulders, secured with a shining, golden clasp, is a falcon feather cloak, the same magical cloak that allowed her to disguise herself as the ember-colored, four-legged messenger that led me to this very spot. Her hair is just as fair and warm as her skin, embellished with flowing braids cascading over thick, blonde tresses.

It’s Freyja.

The Freyja. Norse goddess of…well a lot of shit to be honest. She’s one badass of a goddess and a prominent member of my spiritual team. This is a familiar meeting point for us, but normally those meetings occur through conscious meditations and trance journeys, not lucid dreaming - or whatever the hell this is.

“Sit.”

She motions to her right, opposite the blazing fire, to a large, moss-covered log. I don’t speak as I cross the clearing and take a seat. Before there’s even time for me to see her moving, she’s already seated next to me.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

My delivery is dry, but her laugh is full and warm. She’s amused and joyful, as if she’d just been told an inside joke by an old friend. I suppose she kind of had. Sometimes it feels like the spirit guides, ancestors, and deities that I work with are more like old friends than members of my spiritual team meant to teach and guide me.

“What, my dear Warrior, do you have against astral travel? You are such a gifted woman, a gifted sorceress, a natural in the art of seiðr, a völva.”

I’m flattered, I truly am, but I can’t help but sigh. I love having a large spiritual team. I love being connected to the spiritual world, but sometimes it can get overwhelming. Not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way where your lists of things to do seem to grow faster than you can accomplish them. I’m honored that the Norse goddess of magic thinks that I am gifted, but the idea of diving headfirst into becoming a Norse seeress and practitioner of old, shamanic magic makes my head spin.

I would love to learn from her and one day start to see what she sees in me - but those damn lists add up. Devoting time and energy to one specific endeavor isn’t necessarily something I can commit to. Not to mention, it would sure as hell spark up fighting within my spiritual team with astral shouts of favoritism towards the goddess.

“I would love to work in seiðr more, but preferably on my terms. Ya know, consciously.”

“You are conscious.” She manages to hold a serious, stoic expression on her face for all of ten seconds before rolling her eyes. “I mean kind of conscious.” I arch an eyebrow at her skeptically before, finally, slightly exasperated, she concedes. “Okay, fine. I’ll stop pulling you in to visit through dreams.”

I give a short nod, about to tell her thank you, but apparently, she’s not done talking.

“But you have to consciously visit more.”

It’s not a demand, what people might honestly expect from a goddess speaking to her human student. Instead, it’s a heartfelt request. She enjoys meeting with me, she enjoys speaking with me, and teaching me. It isn’t a one-sided relationship. We both benefit from our communications. Though I can’t imagine how exactly she benefits from interacting with me. I nod again, this time in agreement, understanding, and silent promise.

“What’s this I’ve heard about there being eyes on you?”

Good lord, word travels fast in the spiritual world. I pause for a moment, trying to determine who within my spiritual team that I’ve communicated with about the celestial spies I’ve noticed following me around lately, could have let word slip to Freyja. But honestly? It could be any one of them. Freyja is a very social goddess. As a goddess of war, she’s strategic. She likes to get to know and interact with the other members of my spiritual team so that they can work together and truly be a team. If my team were an army, she’d be the general. If they were the Italian mafia, she’d be the Godmother. She has a way of finding out anything and everything.

“I don’t know if there are eyes on me.”

She scoffs, laughing through what she perceives as bullshit.

“You don’t know? You seem to like that phrase. You say it a lot.”

She’s not wrong, but it doesn’t mean I have to like what she’s saying. I know where this is heading, what she’s already implying, and it’s just one more thing to add to my never-ending ‘to-do’ lists. Lists that are made with the best of intentions and filled with things that will help me learn, grow, and improve my life, but lists that I never seem to find the time to return to. Sometimes it feels as though I’m fighting - and losing - an eternal war with time. Then, other times, it feels like time isn’t real at all. Either way, those lists never get touched.

“Is it that you don’t know or that you choose not to know? That you don’t want to learn?”

Again, not wrong, but again, not necessarily something I want to face. Unfortunately, I’m not exactly the one in total control in this situation right now, so I suppose I’m going to put my big girl pants on and deal with it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to learn. I just feel like I have so much to learn. Not just from you and with this,” I move my hands about, gesturing to my beautiful, ethereal, otherworldly surroundings, “but from others, from life, from myself. It gets overwhelming sometimes, and I just sort of…” I trail off, mind mulling over all the possible phrases and words that I could use to describe how I feel. Nothing seems sufficient enough. I give a slight huff, shrug my shoulders, and come up with the best that I can. “...freeze up.”

Her gracefully bewitching features twist into a frown. She doesn’t like my answer, but I know that she understands what I’m trying to say with it, or at the very least, she empathizes with it.

“It’s not even that I necessarily freeze up entirely. I just freeze up in terms of action. I stop making active decisions towards progression. I take each day, each experience, each period of time as it comes and let the lessons and discoveries happen organically.”

Her expression shifts from the disenchanted frown to something more contemplative and curious, as if she’s trying to decide if I’m making sense or just an excuse for not putting in the work.

“It’s not as steadily gratifying or results-driven as a dedicated routine or practice, but the outcome? The payout? It feels better. When you finally reach your goal and can look back and see the clues, connect the dots, see the path that led down the winding road to where you are in that exact moment? To see just how far you’ve come? To know that you did that, you felt that, you experienced that? To know that you didn’t just learn it from a book, from lectures, from experiences of others, but never your own - it feels different. It feels better.”

Her lips curve upward into an enchanting, gentle smile.

“You are very wise, Warrior. I think sometimes you forget that I, too, have a lot to learn from you.”

I smile sheepishly, my gaze darting towards the fire. I have never handled compliments well, no matter who they’re from.

“You may go back to sleep.” Her words are sudden and direct, her voice pulling my gaze back to her face. “I will keep my promise if you will keep yours. Good night, Warrior.”

Suddenly, I’m falling. As far as I know, I haven’t moved. I’m still sitting on that large log by that blazing, larger-than-life fire, but I’m falling. Astrally falling. My astral body, my spirit, my soul, is falling from the distant realm of Freyja’s sacred forest back to my physical body. My spirit is floating through galaxies, across timelines, between realms, but I see no stars, no Milky Way, no enchanted lands, just her face. Her face, which is sinking further and further from my view, like tunnel vision into a black hole, until her form vanishes entirely.

My eyes dart open, staring upward at the spinning blades of my ceiling fan. I’m lying back in my bed, back in my body. I don’t bother sitting up. There’s no use. It’s not going to confirm anything I don’t already know, and it’s not going to help me fall back to sleep - actual sleep - any faster.

Instead, I change position, rotating a full 180 degrees, settling on my stomach. I move my arms underneath my pillow and take a deep breath before closing my eyes, foolishly hoping I’ll drift easily and swiftly into a deep, dreamless slumber and not wonder about what my soul does while I’m sleeping.