One Word: Lucid

I had a lucid dream Wednesday night (February 10-11, 2016). My second one ever. At least that I woke up remembering.

This started me thinking about the word “lucid” and how much I love it. It means clear and easily understood. Before discussing that, though, here’s the scoop on lucid dreaming.

A lucid dream is one during which you realize you are dreaming. Some people find this happens to them quite often. Some learn to induce such dreams deliberately and even control them.

Various benefits are claimed. To me they sound similar to the benefits of meditation: problem-solving insight, sharper mental focus, improvement of moods and mental health. (There has been a lot more study of meditation than of lucid dreaming.)

My Lucid Dreams

In my first lucid dream, a few years ago, I noticed the sky filled with large yellow construction equipment, unfolding itself into bewildering, ever-larger patterns. I recall thinking that it looked like an alien invasion.

It then occurred to me that what I was seeing wasn’t physically possible, except in a dream. “So clearly I am dreaming,” I said to myself.

I then tried to control what was happening in the dream. When that didn’t work for me, I tried (just out of curiosity) to stay in the dream to see where it went. But it slipped through my grasp, waking me up.

Please don’t ask me to describe this second, most recent lucid dream: It was embarrassing! I might share it in person, with close friends, for a good laugh at my own expense. But only so.

What’s important is that I did realize, without waking up, that it was a dream. As before, I was unable to direct or steer the dream itself, and I woke up soon after realizing I was dreaming.

What these lucid dreams mean, I have no idea. I even ask myself questions like: “Did I really realize I was dreaming — or did I merely dream that I realized it? And is that the same thing?”

There’s been relatively little research on lucid dreaming. Until there’s more, I see no reason to pursue it — but it still fascinates me.

The Lucidity of Lucid

Back to the word “lucid” itself. It means clear, intelligible, easily understood. An explanation so simple that anyone can grasp it is lucid.

Beyond this strict literal definition, the word connotes brightness or illumination. If a piece of writing is dark, dismal, and hopeless in tone, we probably wouldn’t describe it as lucid even if it is totally clear.

In everyday speech, we often apply the word to one’s mental state. Cheri and I, in caring for her invalid mom, found that on many days she was foggy or confused — but some days, extremely lucid. That is, she was sharp, observant, and understood what was going on.

The first computer spreadsheet I ever used (circa 1985-86) was named “Lucid”. It used a “3D” metaphor and ran on my TRS-80 Model 100 laptop computer.

Later Lucid was adapted by its publisher to the PC-compatible market. Still advertised as a 3D spreadsheet. I’m not even sure what that means — but it had a fanatically loyal cult following.

Out of curiosity, I just now searched Amazon — and darned if they don’t still have Lucid for sale! The lone reviewer said it comes on floppy diskettes, and he had to buy an old computer to run it. Apparently this was important to him, even in these days of Excel and LibreOffice and the like.

In other connections, there’s a related word — “pellucid” — meaning transparently clear. Even more lucid than lucid itself, I suppose.

At one time, I read a series of Edgar Rice Burroughs novels set in a “world” called Pellucidar, at the earth’s core. It was always brightly lit and filled with  transparently clear air, free of smoke and other man-made pollution.

(This article is part of my series on words that are #worth1000pictures.)