14 June 2013


I had one of my flying dreams last night. I've not experienced one of those for years and yet, as with all recurring dreams, even ones silent since childhood, it felt totally obvious, in the happening.

Although I had this kind of dream time and time again when fairies and magic were real to me, I rarely managed to pirouette, or swoop around like a bird above people's heads, demanding attention. It wasn't for lack of wishing.  Instead I found myself heading forward alongside everybody else, yet rarely touching ground. I always seemed to have my head at the same height as other people's, just gliding along beside them, almost like swimming, ever so slightly off the floor. It's no less exhilarating, for that.

At two or three years old, walking down Southall High Street with my mum, I'd hold my coat open by the bottom corners, hoping the wind would let me take off. This thing has been with me a loooooong time.

The nightmare versions of these dreams - there were plenty of those as I began to grow - were filled with panic and with wobbly legs that wouldn't quite support me. Reliant on flying to cross the road yet skimming so ridiculously close to the ground, I'd bump against the camber or catch a toe on the kerb and go helplessly rolling in front of moving traffic, unable to keep up with the walkers who might help, nor get up to fly nor to walk, nor drag myself out of the way, with my power like a fading torch, so weak, and full of shame and fear.

In the dream I had this morning, I told myself so many things - who in my life is asleep and blindly content, who won't mind or notice when my adventure moves on (which was a huge and welcome surprise). I also told myself who's going to take me to the next step of my journey and introduce me to others. Little things to keep locked up for just me, to wait, and see.

The big deal happened when I woke up. See, in this dream, the power was under the building, and magnificent and hidden, and conscious, and I floated like a magnet facing the same polarity as we conversed.

It seems so easy, taking this in isolation, to say
"Ah! The power to fly isn't 'in' us, it's not a magical separation from others to make them sit up and take notice, it's just what happens when you stop being separate, and connect to source. The fact that they seem different, is down to their life journeys. Not that they're different at all, just not there yet"

It is easy to say it, but my inner child, or if you like, 20 or 30 of my inner dream echoes, are currently absorbing what was being shown to them all along - that dream-flying is a hug from the universe, a step in to welcoming arms, not a step away to self determination, and that embarrassment, sense of failure, sense of  shame and not fitting in, these are not the side effects of failing to fly - these are the causes. A whole lot of my subconscious mind is in a great big 'Wow',.... and dancing.

I owe Fiona Truman for taking the hammer to my own Berlin Wall - this is all part of the crumbling. Squeee!!

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