air·borne

airborne
(âr'bōrn')
adj.

1. carried by or through the air.
2. transported in aircraft.
3. in flight; flying.

the best and worst dreams of the week happened on the same night.
tuesday night {or more accurately, sometime in the wee hours of wednesday morning}.
the first dream i had, which was of the latter category, was of losing the three back teeth from the right side of my top row.
they all came out at once leaving these bloody, textured holes that my tongue kept discovering squishy, tangy bits in the empty sockets.
the dream only lasted for a few vivid moments, but i still can feel the spongy texture of the flecks of flesh and i can still taste the tang of blood and horror at the discovery.

this dream hits a little too close to home for me since the middle of the three teeth featured actually has been causing me no end of problems since the last day of my job {and the end of my dental insurance}. literally, the very last day. it started out as an ache caused by the cold i had for two and a half weeks but it's just kept going.

but i'd really rather not dwell on this since there isn't much i can do about it now.

so on to the next dream.






i'm encountering resistance to writing it down.
maybe i can't do it justice.
maybe laying here in my bed,
so far from the feeling of freedom the dream space contain,
i hesitate to revisit something i long so much for.

{particularly right now}

it was a flying dream.


and one of the best.




the mechanics of it are fuzzy.
there were particular movements that needed to happen to fly. a certain step, maybe. a run?
but they aren't important since they won't get me off the ground in this reality.

i do know that a massive white cotton sheet was involved.
a sail of sorts that caught the wind and took me up and along with it.


and i remember the feeling of soaring
coasting along effortlessly
with all this verdant space stretching away in every direction
and an innate understanding of the contrast/connection/relationship
between the clean, white cloth, the saturated emerald fields below,
and me.

and despite having had many nightmares about heights
based off of my own mild phobia
this was not one of them

because the distance between the ground and my sail·borne body
wasn't empty at all.
i could feel the space reaching up to deliver me to the sky
and it was as tangible and visceral an experience
as what my back understands when i fold over my legs to stretch my hamstrings.
one works while the other releases.
and there was this sense of reaching
stretching
thrusting
heart turned upward
and my whole being suspended in this moment of arrest
as i soar.
open and reaching.
it was so easy.
and beautiful beyond words or images or silence.





and finally tonight. sitting on my friend's porch swing in the dark. mostly not talking while my heart drags its feet on the ground from a long day of thinking about rent and imprudent marriages and money and joblessness, und so weiter...till i looked up from my perch of tucked-in-legs-burrowed-under-down-comforters and saw an airplane curving towards sea-tac. lights flickering. completely silent at it effortlessly arched across the sky. i felt the distance between the plane and but this time the space is suffocating me. pushing me down further. mocking me. and i want to get out. be up there. flying. moving. going. away. somewhere.

now.

and my grief stepped forward with mocking encouragement from hopelessness. and i've spent the rest of the night trying to keep them both at bay wielding my dreams of flight.