A metaphysical teacher once shared a dream‑work technique with me that was so simple—and so profound—that it changed the way I relate to my inner world. She told me that when I wake from a dream and remember it clearly, I should close my eyes again and recall the dream from the viewpoint of another character within it. Not imagining what they might have felt, but becoming them—remembering the dream through their eyes.
I tried it the very next morning, and the results astonished me.
I had just awakened from a dream in which I stood on a balcony high atop a mountain, admiring a breathtaking view. As I took in the scenery, several men dressed in black rode up to the base of the mountain on horseback. They threw ropes upward, pulled the balcony loose, and brought it crashing down to the ground below. I felt heartbroken. Why would anyone destroy something so beautiful?
Following my teacher’s advice, I closed my eyes and recalled the dream again—this time as one of the horsemen. To my surprise, the memory came just as clearly and naturally as the original version. It didn’t feel like imagination. It felt like remembering a second event that had always been there, equally real and detailed. And from his viewpoint, I felt something unexpected: delight. He enjoyed watching the balcony fall.
That startled me. But then I recognized the feeling. I had experienced that same delight in other dreams—like one in which I watched a train leap off its tracks while crossing a high bridge and tumble into the valley below. I had enjoyed that too.
Suddenly it became clear:
The horseman was also me.
The part of me that loves beauty and height had been standing on the balcony.
The part of me that enjoys dramatic collapse had been pulling it down.
Two different “selves,” both living inside the same dreamer, each experiencing the same event from a completely different emotional truth.
This taught me something essential: dreams are multidimensional. They are not experienced by a single, unified “I,” but by many inner parts—each with its own desires, fears, and perspectives. And sometimes, one part of us can disrupt or even sabotage the happiness of another, just as the horseman disrupted the dreamer on the balcony.
Imagine what could happen if these inner parts could communicate—if they could understand one another, negotiate, and work toward shared goals. The harmony created in dreams might begin to shape harmony in waking life as well.
I tried the technique again a few days later. I had awakened from a dream in which my mother was speaking to me, but her words seemed confusing and out of place. I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say or why it mattered. So I closed my eyes and re‑entered the dream—this time as my mother.
Once again, the shift was immediate and complete. Her words made perfect sense. I understood not only what she was saying, but why she was saying it. I felt her concerns, her motivations, and her emotional logic from the inside. Even more surprising, I sensed aspects of her personality—attitudes, hopes, and vulnerabilities—that I had never consciously recognized in waking life, yet felt unmistakably true when experienced from her viewpoint.
This simple technique revealed something extraordinary:
Dreams are not just stories we watch.
They are conversations between the many selves within us—
and sometimes between our inner world and the people we love.
By stepping into another character, we gain access to perspectives we never knew we carried, and insights that can transform both our dreams and our waking relationships.