Musings of a Compulsive Thinker

Flying

I think everyone has had a flying dream at some point. I've always heard from other people that in their dreams, flying takes real effort; they have to "swim" or flap their arms or something similar. It takes hard work.

When I was a kid I had flying dreams fairly often. It was almost effortless; all it took was some momentum, like jumping off of something or running fast, and then I'd just take off and soar like Peter Pan. If I started slowing down, all I had to do was swoop up a little higher, like a kite catching the wind, and then dive to get my momentum going again. It was wonderful.

One morning when I was little, I woke up from a dream so realistic that I wasn't sure I couldn't really fly. So, being possessed of a scientifically curious mind, I went outside my family's apartment building for a test flight. I climbed up on a landscaped terrace about three or four feet high, stood at the edge, and leapt.

I didn't fly. This was a minor disappointment. But my experiment was completed; my results were conclusive. I went back inside.

I haven't had one of these flying dreams in many long years. I miss them. Last week I had a dream that I can't really remember; all it left me with was a deep-rooted sense of uneasiness that stuck with me the entire day.

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Labels: ponderings

posted by the alygator @ 3:58 PM