It was 1987. I had recently returned from a western Pacific naval deployment, meaning I had spent 6 months bobbing up and down on the ocean, occasionally pulling into an exotic port upon which I would collapse from pure exhaustion. There was no internet back then, nor cell phones, nor satellite TV. Being out at sea meant you were isolated from the rest of the world other than a letter from home now and then. Remember letters? Hand written notes stuffed in an envelope with a postage stamp slapped on the side? If you're under 30, you know what letters are (were), but you've probably never experienced writing one, mailing one, and receiving one. Imagine writing information by hand, sending it off and waiting a week or two for a response. At sea you can easily double that waiting time.Anyway, I was just settling into my routine back in the States, when at the age of 26 I had my first lucid dream. At the time, I had never heard of such a thing, let alone know what one was. Bear in mind this was before the information highway at our fingertips. Research on a topic was conducted at a public library, with catalog cards and the Encyclopedia Britannica. Hell, I had no idea there was even a name for the experience I had.The night started out like any other. Went to sleep at the normal time. Just the standard, un-noteworthy American brand of drama filling the day.I found myself walking down a street. There were no vehicles, like it had been cordoned off for pedestrian use only. There were venders scattered down the street, with kiosks on the walks, shops and cafe and terraces. It was like a bazaar. Shoppers and people enjoying themselves, leisurely strolling about. There were gardens and fountains, pottery and sculptures. As I was moving though the crowd, I was suddenly struck with the awareness that I was in a dream, that all the people, the conversations, the street, the buildings, were all a fabrication of my mind (or so I thought back then). Even with that realization, it was difficult to distinguish what was before me, with the reality back in my waken state. It felt so solid, appeared so vivid and permanent. It wasn't wispy or vague at all. In fact, it was detailed, from the individual expressions and behaviors of each person, to the lighting, shadow, and movement of leaves on a tree.All those ponderings spanned only a few dozen seconds or so. Out from the middle of the crowd directly in front of me, two menacing-looking thugs materialized. I didn't know how they got there. They could have emerged from somewhere in the crowd, or out from a shop. However they came to be wasn't important. Their intentions were evident; that much I knew. Their focus was on me. They had a threatening posture and air, and were unmistakably coming for me. The Matrix, a movie that wouldn't be out for another 12 years, would be very, VERY reminiscent of the experience, namely those scenes where the agents tracked down those who didn't belong. And just like the advise Cypher would give Neo when confronted by agents, I turned and ran.Yes, seconds before I was marveling at the clarity of objects in a mere dream, fully aware it was only a dream, so why would I be running? What was there to be scared of? In the moment, there wasn't time to postulate. I could feel them closing in from behind and I ran for what felt like my life. Like I said, there wasn't much to distinguish this dream from reality.It wasn't long before the dream world started to collapse. It felt like I had reached a border that separated the dream world from the real world, only this border wasn't sharply defined. It was more like a transitional area, where one gradually faded while the other reciprocatingly took form. A borderland where the two worlds co-existed to varying degrees.I continued to sprint through the misty, twirling twilight of the border. Although the dream world had mostly vanished, I could still sense one of those thugs right on my ass. I could also sense my return to reality a breath away. As the real world materialized around me, I chanced a glance behind, still pumping arms and legs, and caught a fist in the nose. It was one of those numbing, star-seeing blows that rocked my head back. At this point, thankfully, my head bounced off my bed.I was sweating, out of breath, and wondered what had just happened. The dream remained as clear as any memory from a recent day at work. Unbelievable. And what made this dream so uncanny was the blood flowing from my swollen and bruised nose.It appeared as though my imagined dream character had crossed into my reality with solid form, even if for only a fraction of a second. Either that or I unknowingly punched myself in the nose.  How could that be? Did I simply hit myself in the face as I subconsciously playacted a story crafted from my imagination? It would be another 28 years before I had an answer, and that answer would seem even more preposterous.At that time though, in 1987, I hadn't a clue what had just transpired, or what it was called, or if the experience could be replicated. Maybe it was a rare phenomenon, a once in a lifetime freak occurrence like spontaneous combustion. Regardless, I was hooked and the following day began my search for answers. Stay tuned to my next post and find out where my curiosity had led.