Dreams of Flight

For as long as I can remember I’ve been able to fly – not in the conventional sense, although I’ve piloted gliders, gone up in balloons, hang-glided over the desert, and done a tandem free-fall from 10,000 feet. My earliest memories are of levitating off the ground and moving freely of my own volition, free from the constraints of gravity and my family’s admonition that I was “too sensitive.” As I grew, I was taught that such things weren’t possible; I spoke less of those experiences and began to doubt the clarity of those memories. Yet in dreams I continued to fly, alternating between excursions over vast arid and mountainous landscapes and navigating with ease the man-made canyons of cityscapes. This is where I feel most at home: out on the edge of the wing at one with sky and earth. At this grand scale I felt unburdened by sadness and doubt, no longer mired in the chaotic tangle of aloneness that permeated my world. For these moments I am in the dream, fully engaged, fully awake; a part of, not separate from. Solace granted, I return to earth subtly healed and ready to engage once more.