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dreams of flight

"providence awakes each morning
an hour or two before dawn "
(F. O Morris, 1810-1893)

just when I feel trapped and entrenched
in the Joycean blah of winter, in his "no pen,
no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet,
no inclination"-ness, I have another vivid
dream. the best ones come early in the
morning and on Wed. morning of this week,
a particularily spectacular dream unfolds.
spectacular, not just for its sense of place
(although its location reveals incredible
clarity), but because the empowering
nature of thought remains prevalent
throughout. it represents the truest
sense of a subconscious mind proving
the praxis that 'thinking does make it so'.
in it, I merely have to think the desire
to fly, and then do. I lift and float at will,
past rooftops and trees, chase a train
to peer through its windows, then pull
upandaway, soaring sideways towards the
fall back to earth whenever something
or someone below captures my interest,
and up again for that long overview,
generally flying wherever I want to go.
but the dream restricts me to the same small
Banff-like-ski-resort-village with its
snow-laden evergreens, red shingled roofs,
cobblestone walks, horizoned rockies
and other northern ideosyncracies.
nothing I am not used to.

this is my first flying dream. all my life,
I have envied a family member who boasts
countless flying dreams and much as I've
tried to precondition my thoughts before
falling asleep (to inspire similar airborne
sensations) have never been able to fly
through my dreams. at least, not until a
few days ago. in this one, each lift leaves
that sense of awkwardness that young
birds probably feel when learning to fly,
the uncertainty of a new attempt; will it
work? but to my surprise, every effort
succeeds. this prompts another test,
to merely think a(nother) desire for the
sake of satisfying it; it works for that, too!
(and I manage to manifest the second one
whenever I land). all obvious symbolisms,
I suppose. but my main goal in the dream
is to develop flying skills. what an incredible
feeling but unfortunately, I am interupted,
jolted out of sleep by the rush of a day meant
for work, by the sound of an alarm and no
time left to record any details. they get lost
in busy-ness, even if flashes pervade quiet
moments with coffee, while driving and
throughout the rest of the week; the sense
of flying remains. and incredulity, that
finally! I can fly.

how all-pervasive this interest in birds
must be since the only thing that distracts
me from my return to flight is a waking life.
next time, I plan to go higher, flip and ride
the air upsidedown til its lift subsides, then
chase vast distances as if to release the
power of thought from all wakeful distractions
... and from that, I will answer the question;
what dreams may come?

"seeing the courtesan on parade
one loses the power to resist
like a cuckoo falling in mid-flight."
(Okumura Masanobu (1686-1764)