Friday, May 20, 2016

I Believe I Can Fly



     I've always had vivid dreams, real dreams. My dreams have realistic color, sound, smell, taste, and touch. There are even temperature variations. I dreamt about touching a cold, metal bar. The metal was so cold that I woke up. I felt all around my bed trying to find what I may have touched in my sleep that was so cold. Nothing in my room was cold.

     I can even read and write in my dreams.

     When I talked to others about their dreams, I found this to be an odd phenomenon. I even searched in books, reading everything I could get my hands on about dreams. These books never led to any answers, either. When I first heard the words "lucid dreaming," I thought I had finally found my answers, but that was not the case either. Lucid dreaming just means that you're aware of your dream state.

     I was not aware. My dreams were sometimes more real that reality, and that's how I got hurt.

     I was three years old, and I dreamt I could fly. I didn't fly like a superhero or a bird. I would leap into the air and hover. From that hover position, I could kick my way into the air further. It was like swimming in the sky. Once I reached the height I wanted to be, I could move forward or backward by making small adjustments to my position. The more I adjusted the faster or slower I could go.

     I flew over buildings. I hovered from one place to the next without having to walk. I soared over trees. I followed birds. I investigated the faces of statues up close. I felt so free. The wind blew through my hair. I touched clouds. I smelled the sea in the air as I neared the ocean. I wanted to fly forever.

     I rose up out of the dream as I rose up through a cloud. The sensation was cool, like rising from the bottom of an undisturbed pool on  summer's night. I stood up while still in the bed, so I could get a little height for my best hover. I leapt into the air...

    And fell into the trashcan beside the bed. I tumbled to the floor as my ankle turned, twisted, and the pain shot up through my leg. I SCREAMED!

     My mom came running into the room. "What's wrong?! What happened?!"

     I was still unsure myself. "I can't fly!" I cried. "Something's wrong, and I can't fly!"

     My mom picked me up, and carried me to the living room. "Of course, you can't fly, sweetie. God didn't make humans to fly."

     "But I did fly. I flew over the bank and past the forest. I followed the birds to the ocean. I flew up to the clouds, and then I fell into the trash can." I was sobbing by now. My ankle was throbbing and swelling. "I hurt my ankle!"

     My mom checked me out. My ankle was beginning to turn the color of a fresh bruise. She toted me to the car, and we went to see the doctor. He confirmed that I had sprained and ordered my mom to put ice on it and keep it elevated.

     I sat in the living room watching cartoons on the Disney channel, my foot elevated, a rubber ice pack draped across my ankle, a glass of tea on the side table, and I remembered. I remembered what it was like to truly be free. I remembered what it was like to fly.