Ever since I can remember, I’ve had hallucinations in that fleeting state between sleep and consciousness, before full lucidity has kicked in and I’m aware of who I am or what I’m doing. Most people take a few tenths of a second for that process to take place as the eyes flutter open, make out familiar shapes in the darkness, send signals to the brain to interpret the information, and then return a verdict. I’m in my bed, sleeping next to my wife and I’m looking at the draperies.

But more often than not my brain works a little different than most people, for before my brain can wait for my eyes to adjust to the vague shapes before interpreting its surroundings, it decides to fill in the information for me. That’s when I see shapes moving in the darkness, figures standing in the doorway, spiders crawling across the ceiling, or sometimes snakes rushing toward my face. These waking hallucinations even have a name. Hypnagogia, the transitional state between wakefulness and sleep.

The immediate imagery can be unsettling or even frightening. The appearance of a door opening or closing turns out to be nothing more than the brain anticipating movement from an object not in transition. The shadowy figure in the doorway turns out to be the background shadow of the hallway. But the rushing objects or spiders can be startling because one is pushed quickly into wakefulness with the belief one is under attack. Although spiders appears to be the most common hallucinatory phenomena, my experience has shown these figures can be anything, including the belief invaders are in the house prowling around.

The rapidity with which the brain invents a false scenario is impressive. I have rolled onto the floor, rushed to shut a door, or put my hands out as though to block an attack. The only comfort in these episodes is that the mind is still so transitionally inclined to either wakefulness or sleep that after mentally reassuring there is no danger, the brain seems able to easily slip back into sleep with no ill after effects. By morning it’s usually be forgotten.

I suppose the first time I became aware my hallucinations were real is when I would sit bolt upright in bed and ask my wife why there were hanging cages in our room. I don’t remember what the cages look like or why they’re hanging there, but my wife tells me she would reassure me there were no cages and I would go back to sleep. After I became consciously aware of my hallucinations, I began to remember having them, even though the details of each episode remain elusive.

Hypnagogia is similar to, but not to be confused with, the more terrifying sleep paralysis, which my wife experienced in her early twenties. Physiologically, the paralysis occurs as a natural part of REM sleep, however it is the body that shuts down while the mind remains awake. During this time the paralysis is usually, and understandably, accompanied by either terrifying audio or visual hallucinations, or a perceived sense of impending danger, such as the presence of a person standing nearby just out of peripheral sight.

I’ve never experience paralysis, and as a phenomenon goes it’s apparently so rare that one can only expect to experience it once in their lifetime, if ever. The condition I have, however, seems to be recurring enough to be deemed frequent, as it happens several times per week. What this suggests to me is that my body doesn’t shut down properly and remain shut down for the full eight hours of sleep.

What I suppose fascinates me about this condition is that for a few moments my brain sustains the perception of a reality unfolding that is dreamlike in nature. It is a waking dream, in that my first instinct is to react to the false stimuli my eyes are receiving. I have sometimes wondered what is the longest period of time I have been under misapprehension before I was able to figure out what’s really happening.

This condition highlights the fact that the brain goes into a “low power” mode during sleep, much like a computer, and in the same way it requires a quick reboot. Have you ever woken up in your bed in a state of panic, wondering who the person is sleeping next to you, where you are, and what you’re doing there? I can recall distinctly feeling a fear, even if it only lasted for one second, of not remembering who is sleeping next to me. Naturally, I remember it’s my wife, as it has been for nearly 20 years.

I believe also that part of the fear of Hypnagogia is due to a primal instinct in man of sleeping in the wild and being ready for attack. A person usually wakes up in a feeling of comfort or security, but the disorienting feeling caused by Hypnagogia evokes a primitive fear of persecution from the natural world or spirits. In those fleeting moments the brain isn’t able to compute rationally, leading the person to allow instinct to take over.

I don’t have any intention of going to a doctor or anything. It’s a harmless quirk of my nature and I don’t remember most of the episodes. What about you? Do you have any sleeping quirks?