Have you read my first remembered dream of Friday night? I'm still feeling quivery from it, just reading and recalling it.
I was feeling lonely and went to visit Caroline [my daughter] - except Caroline was not living in Madison but more like an English hamlet out of a Harry Potter book.
We were in her backyard. It looked a bit cluttered with chairs and a firepit and other nameless things.
I don't remember telling her I was lonely, but she seemed to know that I needed some engagement, some comforting perhaps.
Caroline took what looked like some remnant of a structure, some 2 x 4s and some plywood, nailed together, 'climbed aboard' it and had me climb on too. Then we began to levitate off the ground, me holding tightly to Caroline, because I'm afraid of heights. [Editorial note: these Friday night dreams seem to be preoccupied with my irrational fears and phobias.]
The first few minutes of flying, I was focused on my fear, making sure to keep a firm grasp of Caroline (some might call it a 'death hold'), her strength and her confidence. I barely remember the ride.
When we came back to the ground of her backyard, she hopped off and I began to levitate off the ground myself. The structural remnant was morphing at the same time into something that felt more like a 4 x 4 post or even a pole. At this point, I wasn't feeling fear but exhilaration.
At first, I could bare lift myself off the ground, hovering only inches above. Then I began to get more lift, the ground began to fall away and Caroline began to grow smaller. I tentatively flew in the direction of her English hamlet house, painted a deep yellow, with this curious sponge-like texture. As I got closer, I realized with surprise that her house walls were made of baked cornbread with little flecks of green and red pepper embedded in them. Imagine that!
My confidence grew and I made more turns and flew higher. Yes, I was actually flying! Whoo-hoo!
Now as I looked down, Caroline's yard looked like a square in a patchwork quilt, smaller and just one of many. All the lawn chairs and yard equipment were gone along with Caroline. Where did she go, I wondered?
There was a slight shift in my dream and I was flying lower again. Now there were people standing around in the yards, watching as I flew above them. I had the dawning realization that I was no longer flying with my arms and legs wrapped around a pole, but a broomstick, yes, an honest-to-goodness broomstick! These people must think I'm a witch! I thought to myself.
Flying lower and slower, as I whooshed by them, individuals in the crowd started reaching out to me, many with hankies or tissues in their hands. As I flew by, they moved to hand me the hankie or as to wipe something off of my face. What's on my face? What's on my face?
A man made a swipe at my cheek as I flew by him. What's on my face?
No one said a word, but continued to offer me help.
What's on my face?
End of the dream.
When I woke up, I felt like pushing my obsessive tendencies to the side and allowing the exhilaration of flying to return!
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