I tend to mock the superstitious: too quick to trust, to believe; too quick to comply with the mystery of the faith. Yet I must admit to looking constantly for cosmic signposts – not the ones posted for everyone to follow on life’s journey, but the ones that speak only to me. And I find them like detour signs in a song I can’t get out of my head, or they find me like oracles appearing in my dreams.
My flying dream evolved from my falling dream, which has been a recurring one since I can ever remember, as clearly as I remember being paralyzed by my fear of heights in my childhood. It isn’t new that I should experience the rush of a great fall to be awakened in a nervous sweat or in tears, but it isn’t as common as the more recent form of the dream where I sooth myself in the endless fall and remind myself I will not be hurt, a dream cannot hurt me, until I gently wake up. And I am no longer that child who held her fists clenched like rocks around the guard rail of the basket on the parachute ride or who passed the entire helicopter tour hiding her face in her father’s shoulder. I’m just the one who grew up to mock superstition and ride roller coasters.
Still, it wasn’t so long ago that I lost count of how many times I met the sensation of freefall with the desire to wake up and escape the fear. That was until the last dream started differently from others – instead of sudden realization that I had lost the ground underneath me, I found myself stepping toward the edge of a tall skyscraper’s rooftop looking for the bridge that would connect me to the next rooftop. At first I found a weak trellis that although would connect to a nearby rooftop, would not support my weight if I tried to cross it on foot. So I searched and spotted a sturdy foot bridge at the far end of the building. I pointed my feet toward it and felt my legs move in step, though I didn’t move closer but further from the bridge. As I looked behind me I realized I was drifting closer to the edge where the trellis stood as though it was pulling me with its gravity. So I walked faster, or tried, and even pumped my arms as though to run with my whole body, but no use. And I looked down to see my feet so close to the edge. That’s when I realized that my feet had not been touching the asphalt roof at all. And when my legs stopped pumping, I drifted with the wind, until I turned my head and leaned into the direction I wanted to drift and so I did. I said to myself, finally I can fly. My heart started beating faster, I felt my face smile, and then all I felt was the wind as I floated up and through cold clouds and then head first down and faster up and down again, and as I found my ability to turn into the wind and pull wide into the opposite direction. And the release of the fear that had earlier gripped me, when I thought I was being compelled to plummet, and the joy of flight combined, flooded my eyes with tears.
I woke up to check my cheeks but they and my pillow were dry, I had left the tears back in the dream. I told the first person I saw about my flying dream, yes I finally had one! Then I told everyone, especially the ones who had shared their previous flying dreams in the forum where people posted stories like that. And then I woke up again and realized I hadn’t told anyone about my flying dream because that was a double dream.
Not so long after that I read a story about 2 fish, or were they birds? And something I’m sure about breadcrumbs and far away peaks, and it reminded me I wanted to tell you about my flying dream.