Sleep Me: I’m Just A Human Dream Sponge

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The air felt different before I had words for it. Time slipped, the year turned, and my dreams began to land with the weight of lived experience. I’m sharing why sleep suddenly feels like stepping into a parallel life—and how postpartum cracked open a deeper intuition that now flags a room’s energy before I even arrive.

We trace a path from community plans—investigating libraries, antique shops, funeral homes, and an old theater—to the intensely personal: lucid dreams that look like visitations, a detailed warning from my late father that changed how I handle my son’s clothes, and the strange comfort of feeling guided when logic has nothing to offer. Along the way, I dig into a compelling idea: dreams aren’t random; they’re compressed experiences, entire narratives folded into minutes. That’s why the body reacts as if it really happened. The nervous system can’t tell dream from daylight, and forgetting becomes a protective feature that keeps waking reality intact.

If you’ve felt the veil thin—especially after a life threshold like birth—you’re not alone. We talk practical steps for working with vivid dreams without getting lost in them: simple grounding before sleep, asking clear questions at night, and keeping a lean dream journal to catch recurring places, symbols, and emotional residue. Whether you read these moments as psyche, spirit, or both, the test is usefulness. Do you move differently because of what you saw? Then it mattered.

Press play for a grounded, raw look at lucid dreaming, postpartum intuition, grief that speaks, and the science-meets-mystery of compressed dream narratives. If a recent dream won’t let go, I want to hear it. Subscribe, share with a friend who’s been dreaming in high definition, and leave a review with the symbol or scene you can’t shake—what do you think it’s asking of you?

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