It was 2007, end of November, late evening. On a train, coming home from an annual festival of transpersonal psychology, we had been locked together for the twenty-five endless hours, like a line at the social security office. All those people around me – psychologists, spiritual seekers of happiness, personal development claimants – 1couldn’t make the voyage interesting enough. The train floated somewhere in between Sochi and Moscow when I became unbearably bored. All entertaining activities had been completed:2 I finished my book about dreams, written by the psychologist, Arnold Mindell; I ate my dinner, everything vegan (healthy, but devastating); I got drunk, and got sober, and got drunk again (not healthy, but feels good)3; I participated in two hours of dispute about major issues of transpersonal psychology; I also walked through the entire train back and forth.4 There was nothing left to do. Fascinated by Mindel’s everyone-can-have-a-lucid-dream idea, I decided to try one of the techniques described in the book. Lucid dreaming could open an entire new world of possibilities and knowledge; instead of spending one third of life sleeping, consciousness while dreaming would allow for different places and new realities, to learn other sides of life. Approaching the task, I decided to try the simple technique. One should ask hem/her self every half an hour “Am I asleep?” or “Is it a dream?” The goal is to get our brain into a habit of checking how real reality is. Therefore, I would keep asking myself, automatically, the same question, while asleep, and, eventually, would realize, that something is wrong around me, and would understand that I am dreaming. To finish ruining my wellbeing, I went in tambour, set on the floor, and smoked five cigarettes in row.5 While smoking, I was asking myself the stupid question, “Is it a dream?” “Is it a dream?” “Is it a dream?” “Is it a goddamn dream?” At some point I felt idiotic. It seemed useless, pointless; however, I could