Fearing A Dream

It was impossible.

It was unreal.

It was terrifying.

It was... amazing.

I was flying.

I was really flying. I was soaring through the air on nothing but the wind carrying me across the vast lands of green below me. Endless fields of grass and clumps of trees stood motionless underneath me as I whizzed past in a tumultuos feel of utter joy.

I felt so free. So limitless. Unconstrained. Fearless. Powerful.

And yet I should have been dead. If not at the height that I was in, wherein my lungs should have been crushed or my body frozen by the temperature, but at least by overwhelming fear.

But I wasn't. In fact, I was alive--no, I was so much more than alive.

Everything was so vivid. The sky was so clear, a beautiful mixture of blue and whittles of white. The serene nature living below me, shades of green and brown everywhere, so pure and immaculate. But I didn't just see these, I FELT them around me. As I flew through the clear air, feeling the cold wind rush past me, I felt connected with every living, breathing thing. I was the sky, I was the ocean, I was the earth, I was everything and nothing, and me, all at the same time.

It was indescribable. Beautiful. I felt... whole and complete, like a puzzle piece finally finding it's whole. My weak human desires didn't exist and I didn't need anything else. I didn't want anything else. For once in my entire life, I was simply happy.

Then I awoke.

But the feeling was so strong, that I still felt it from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.



Air. Wind. Flying. My dream. My fear.

When I was four, I used to take naps in the afternoon. At first I was forced. Eventually, I started sleeping on my own accord. I slept to dream. And in every day dream I can ever remember, I was flying. I loved it.

Then I grew up. And ironically, I developed a fear of heights. Not just any fear, I was completely, utterly, and pathetically terrified. I couldn't even stand on stage without being scared shitless that I'd slip and fall off the edge.

But I still crave it.

In every nightmare I've ever had in my life, if I had one unnatural ability it was to control the air. I could fly and I could run amazingly fast and jump from amazing heights. I still have those nightmares.

When I was Wiccan--yes, I was Wiccan, long story-- coincidentally, my element was air. I didn't choose it. It chose me. It called to me. And I embraced it with open arms. Even when I switched religions, later realizing being Wiccan was not my calling, the love of air still remained.

That's why I love running. I used to run everyday at 5am. I loved feeling the rush of the wind, to feel so fast and free. To have no barriers. It was an addicting feeling.

But despite my huge fear, I still want to fly. Maybe not literally, though that would be insanely awesome. Haha. I've always, always wanted to go bunjee jumping, skydiving, and most definitely SKY SURFING! It's been a dream. I'd probably shit myself, but it would still be amazing to try.

Oh, the irony.