Flying

Usually I dream of falling.  I'll be standing on a high skyscraper/billboard/staircase, and it will slowly start to tip over or peel away from its supporting structure.  It is a terrifying moment, to feel yourself tilting into a void with the certainty of impact only moments away.  I never do remember hitting the ground.
But last night I dreamed of flying.  It was my first real flying dream ever.  I think it started when I fell out of a plane.  Free-falling alone was a new sensation.  From thousands of feet in the air, I could see a green country spread out before me, rolling hills of trees in every direction, beautiful like Galicia.  Maybe it was the view, but suddenly it didn't matter to me that I was falling.  My heart felt calm.  I stopped being afraid.  And with that, I was flying.
I banked and soared and landed light on my feet.  I practiced until I knew that it wasn't just a fluke.  I could fly.

I was trying to take a nap today and ended up thinking about my dream as I fell asleep.  In my drowsy state, I saw a symbol of love.  Not just romantic love, but all love.  Love is scary.  Love makes you vulnerable.   But when you focus less on fear of hitting the ground with a splat and more on the freedom and the beauty that the view of the horizon affords, you can lose your fear.  And then you'll fly.


Beautiful, isn't it?  Of course, after the flying part, my dream transitioned into some strange, Alice-in-Wonderland journey, leaving me disoriented and freaked out.

Feel free to extend the metaphor if you wish.  I'll just leave it at that.