So close is my calamity that my feet scrape a brick wall and window. My arms are spread eagle and I spin to a 90-degree angle to avoid smashing into a building. My trajectory dips and rises, as a consequence. This mental struggle is akin to completing a tax return and singing, simultaneously. However, there’s a catch when flying: it’s essential to concentrate. I adjust my arms to ascend and descend, turn left or right. Breathing is a trial my lungs are a dry well.īut before I blackout, my body repositions forward, with my chest gliding over the landscape and my back to the stars. My chest is soaring so fast that it’s difficult to raise my head my arms are blown back by the wind. I see streetlights, trees, and buildings pushed from my periphery by panoramic heavens and clouds. The ascent is jarring my consciousness is pressed to the rear of my mind. My foot punches the earth and I go skyward. My legs and arms become a machine of flesh and bone, tendon and blood, perspiration and electrically fired neurons. Gathering the energy of my thigh and calf muscles, I push off into a running stride. My arms are steady, bent in mid arch my hands are open but rigid. I bend my knees, one leg before the other, as a sprinter before a race. I walk away from the others, by about twenty meters. My clothes are fitted, yet comfortable: what you would find on a rock climber or a person in long sleeves at a yoga session. My legs tremble, so I keep them busy with thigh squats – about two or three. I assess the wind, I’m mindful of planes, helicopters, and drones. If the air is cold, I blow into my hands and rub them vigorously. Though silent, their eyes tell me that it’s time to ascend. These strangers and I are standing close together. An assembly of men and women, around my age they never speak, nor do I seem to care. Whether the dream starts on a rooftop or a cobblestone street, I’m always in the company of strangers. My flights begin on foreign soil: a city in Japan or Germany, a pasture in France or Cote D’Ivoire. Like all dreams, they’re unexpected occurrences, but still welcomed with delight.
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