I don’t do dreams for you. I don’t know why, but I hate dream sequences in books and movies. They’re cheating. The weirdness of some dreams feels like the character is allowed to take hallucinogens. And it’s simply a false narrative, a red herring, a trick.
But last night, I dreamed I could fly if only I had the right materials and conditions. All I had was cheese, an apple, a harness, line, a field surrounded by trees, and a plane with an engine that had been completely drained of its oil.
Drained.
I love when my dreams involve flying. I used to have a recurring dream that if I moved my arms fast enough, I could fly over the tops of trees, barely. I was a kid in my mother’s house when I first dreamed it. I dreamed it in two houses in New Jersey. I dreamed it here. I always woke up tired but happy after those dreams, elated. I’d think all week about if I could just get above the trees next time, I might be able to see forever. I’d go to bed wishing I could dream it again. It’s months, sometimes years between that dream recurring. I miss it.
I know. I told you I hated dream sequences, but I gave you dreams anyway.
In your dreams, can you fly?
Thank you for listening, jules