Reading Thomas Moore, A Religion of One’s Own, I am in the midst of chapter 3 “Dream Practice.” Moore writes of his own dreams which include flying and sometimes in airplanes. When he flies without a plane he soars to heights with the aid of his flapping arms. When he flies in jets he has to navigate a runway through cities and land on busy roads.
My flying days in dreams without aid of a plane are apparently over. I don’t have them anymore. As my psychotherapist friends exclaim, “What does that mean?”
I think it has something to do with growing up. It saddens me. Per recent post, I do like being a man, but I also like making snowmen. Yea, like when did I do that last. About the same time I flew in a dream. Hmmm, there is snow outside…. Nah, too cold. Maybe later.
Moore’s flying jets and taking off from cities was another dream I often had, and as an adult, but not since I stopped flying United. I think I had them out of fear. I wanted to know I could take control if something happened. Then I could be a hero.
By the way, I didn’t flap my arms when flying alone. I rose into the air with arms stretched out in front of me. Once again I played a hero, a super hero. It is a role I like even though in fiction villains prove more interesting. Then again, I am looking to be only a simple hero with just enough depth to attract the pretty blonde girl. Oh wait, I did that, we’re married.
Maybe that is why I dream of flying solo no more. I plan to keep it that way, but then again I have no control over what happens.
Perhaps I haven’t figured out the meaning of my dreams, but I think I know why two of my favorites are no longer in the juke box.