I just woke up from a dream about flying. It was rather vivid and though I’m a bit spotty on the details, I know this much:
I was on some journey in a very harsh but amazingly beautiful landscape. At first it was a desert but it later became a craggly, rocky coast with pine trees but it was other worldly in that the water was completely clear and still and there were these things in the water, bright, swirling patches mixing with one another. Reds, greens, browns, like algae blooms or something. Anyway, I was looking for something, with someone, but they weren’t physically there, like a narrator or still-small voice. The items I was trying to figure out were up in some rafters, and I some how got it into my head that I could fly up there if I wanted to, so I ran forward, leapt into the air, stuck out my arms and tried to fly. Well, I sort of flew, but had no control over my direction or altitude and I quickly slowed, glided and fell/descended. I kept trying and eventually I figured it out. I leapt into the air, riding updrafts, circling over the crystal clear water in a stunningly beautiful wilderness landscape. I dove down, gliding gliding just above the water, then climbed up again. But if I climbed too steeply for too long, I’d slow down and start to lose lift. It was thrilling and invigorating. Eventually I think I landed, but when I stopped I couldn’t get going again.
I’m not sure of the meaning of this dream, but I feel it represents my spiritual journey—if I could only figure out how to maintain the lift, how to get off the ground, I could SOAR. The narrator is the spirit, guiding me, but I must do the real work. It was a beautiful and marvelous dream. I hope I can fly like that someday.