It's windy out tonight. Lots of rain. Lots of wind. I like wind. I always have. I was taking the garbage to the street for pick up tomorrow and it's about 1:30 in the morning when I do this. The ground is wet and squishy beneath my shoes and the wind blows gentle, but strong enough to feel it push you. The only rain you seem to feel is that being blow by this wind....and suddenly...I think of flying.
I don't know why. But it prompts me to think of that feeling of flying and I tell myself that I should write in my journal about it. So here I am.
I love flying. I have always loved it. I have these vivid dreams sometimes that I can actually fly. And it's very odd and stuff...these dreams. It's like...I realize I am dreaming, but it feels so real. It's as if you just stop thinking in real world terms. You don't think you will fall...and you don't. To get off the ground you just sort of stretch upwards a bit and off you go. Speed is through thought. You seem to float, but with more control than being in water. To move from left and right you just sort of think, or lean one way and you start moving in that direction.
It's all very real to me. It feels real. And while I am flying, I can think to myself that it's all a dream, and then I don't want to wake up from it. I continue to fly for as long as I can to keep that sensation. Sometimes, I forget that I am dreaming, and I actually think what I am dreaming is real and that I have discovered how to fly without wings or machines. And let me tell you....when that happens, I get so fucking giddy.
I love those dreams. I get them often...but not as often as I would like. Then again, that's probably why I appreciate them so much.
Still, I love flying. I have always loved it. For me, it gives a sense of freedom like no other. Maybe...one day...when that wind blows and I glance up with eyes closed, hoping beyong hope...I'll stretch just a bit and dream once more.