I’m not afraid to tell my students that I want to fly. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have this dream. But so far, that’s the only time it happens. You know, in dreams.
Like last night…
As is common in many of these dreams, it begins with a long jump. No, not like in a track meet, just a running leap. (I’ve always enjoyed doing that too.) What happens next triggers the flying. Rather than following the trajectory to the ground, these jumps loiter — gravity-defying, prolonged extensions of the jump. I seldom hit the ground after that as I realize either: it’s happened at last! (if I’m fooled) or I’m dreaming! (if I’m aware). In either case, flying follows.*
Last night? Fooled again. Once again I thought I’d finally done it. The flying was the swimming variety rather than soaring free. Lots of work to stay aloft but worth all the effort. How much better it would have been if the effort included remembering my mental check list.
*If I’m aware enough, I’ll land intentionally and send love. To be honest, it’s really hard to give up the chance to fly to do something far more important. I’m ashamed to admit there have been a few times I kept flying after I remembered the writing on the pad by the bed. Upon waking, there’s no joy in the memory of the flight. Only the knowledge of yet another missed opportunity to make a difference.
A nod to the tingle Thursday when speaking to classes about the possibilities for next semester. (Just staying true to documenting the occurrences.)