My Flying Board

 I used to have a dream.  I could make it come to me on any given night, as long as I was REM.  In the dream I  had a fine carved board, like a skate board but without the non-skid and the wheels, and it was rustic looking-for lack of a more descriptive word.  I would lie down on it, and there was a place in front where I could put my hands. I would ride it on my belly, and it was really comfortable.  It flew. It was so easy to fly, It would steer left or right by my leaning in that particular direction, pushing on the hand grips would speed it up, pulling would slow it down,  lifting gained altitude lowering would cause it to descend.  It was fantastic. I would fly all over the world see everything there was to see.  I had so much fun just freaking people out, and playing,"chicken" with air planes.  It was great, I never wanted to wake up.

About 5 years ago, the dream quit coming when I called it.  I suppose there is a myriad of possible reasons why.  That's when I started my head med cocktail, and it was a year of tragedy.

I'm hoping that someday I'll be able to get back on my flying board again, or at least I might get to ride it when I die.

puck61 puck61
51-55, M
3 Responses Jul 10, 2007

I loved that poem, and i liked hearing about puck's dream. I fly a lot in my dreams, often just by leaping into the air and wishing for it. But i have to keep believing i can fly, because if i doubt, or get scared, i fall.

wow, I have flying dreams too, only it's just me who makes it happen, and I'm never quite good enough at it to be completely in control, but it always saves me from some malevolant stranger on a dark street.<br />
<br />
I seem to have a poem for every occasion, such as this:<br />
<br />
Midnight Flight<br />
<br />
It is always the same<br />
An unknown peril awaits me<br />
In the form of a dark man-shadow<br />
Leaning against a tree in the distance<br />
A jet-black figure against a charcoal backdrop<br />
<br />
He is the chock stone in my path<br />
There is no detour<br />
<br />
Sometimes he is smoking a cigarette<br />
Casually, as though he need not rush<br />
His habit will be his downfall<br />
<br />
This journey cannot be postponed<br />
Its path averted<br />
I must get home<br />
<br />
I cross the street<br />
He crosses the street<br />
Ever approaching<br />
Fast paced<br />
Suddenly I turn around and retreat<br />
Try to go back<br />
He runs then<br />
His hands clawing the air I occupied<br />
Only a moment ago<br />
<br />
He runs, but I run faster<br />
Still, his arms stretch and touch<br />
My clothing<br />
Trying to grasp just a scrap<br />
<br />
A leap of faith propels me<br />
Into the air<br />
As I clear the tree tops<br />
And his outstretched arms<br />
He roars his breathless frustration<br />
At my shoe in his hand<br />
<br />
Soaring and exploring my new found talent,<br />
I wonder who he is<br />
What he wants<br />
And what will happen if he catches me next time

Isn't it great how the mind can take you anywhere you want to go...