A lifetime of dreams

I'm reading a book about the other side. He starts by saying he used to dream of flying. When I was a kid I used to dream about flying too. I would run in the field behind my mom's house and lift my arms out above me and then to the side of me, and with my hair blowing back from my face I'd will myself to soar up from the ground. If I was carefree and running with joy in the sunlight I could take off into the sky, effortlessly. I'd lift my chest up to the heaven with my heart and my toes would scrape the tall grass setting the dandelion seeds free to be carried off in my breeze as they tapped hard against the rims of my hand-me-down sneakers. My arms would pull from the earth and slowly lose the heaviness about them. And I'd soar, lifting higher into the blue, sometimes cloudy, sky. Sometimes while I was running away from something my heart would pound, I'd be able to feel the darkness at my back but my arms would still raise, my heart would still raise and my will would pull with all its might towards the heavens and my body would slowly, hesitantly lose its weight and I would soar. The more nervous I became the lower my flight would be. But if I could shed that anxiety my heart, my body and will would soar. I haven't dreamt of flying in a very long time. I haven't felt light since I was a kid. I miss that lightness, that full belief that my will could overcome anything, even gravity.

Then as I got older my dreams went from dreams of flying to dreams of running. Always running. Usually I ran in the darkness or redness, sometimes up stairs other times through fog. I never tried to fly again. I always ran from something, but sometimes to something too. In my dream I'd become lucid, somehow I knew I was dreaming but I couldn't stop the fear though I knew it wasn't real.

Then my dreams went to exact replicas of life. It didn't matter where I was or what the room looked like. When I fell asleep I'd dream of the exact replica of the room I was in and multiple times a week a dark shadow of a man would stand in my doorway, any doorway, and watch me sleep. It was always the same man, though I never saw his face. With broad shoulders and tall stature he was formidable in the darkness. I lucidly would ask him who he was but be unable to move. He never answered. I'd fight against the paralysis of sleep and as I opened my eyes it would be as though I blinked. My room would be exactly the same as in my dream but the shadow man in the doorway would be gone. I tried to control my actions in sleep because I knew I was dreaming but it never worked.

I'm still this way, at least I am when I can sleep enough to dream. I dream often though many nights I can't remember them. Lately, any dream I have is sadness, though surprisingly few of them are about babies. The most recent ones that still move me is one in which Gabbie's ashes got dumped by a man who didn't believe me that the contents were precious, and another when I grew to such a size that it was similar to a non-gravity space exhibit for her inside. She had so much room to move she wound herself up like a puppy on a chain and yelp soundlessly for days without my ability to help her. Now, when I dream, I struggle to wake up from them so much so that D often is awakened before me and saves me from myself.

I miss the dreams of flying. I miss the dreams that took me closer to heaven and farther from the darkness. I wish I could fly closer to her. I long to feel that lightness of my heart lifting my body towards the sky and my will shedding the heaviness of gravity from my limbs so that I could soar. I'd find her in my dreams if only I could fly again but instead I'm surrounded by too much darkness to be free enough to fly. Perhaps you can only fly if you haven't known heartache.