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DON'T WANT HIM TO SOAR

Dreamed 1991/4/18 by Chris Wayan


A small California town cupped in redwood hills dropping to the sea. I'm a mechanic at a small garage that's trying to get an ultralight plane to fly. The first plane ever built in this world! We're not really a team, though: this flight is the solitary vision of one man. He imagined the very idea of a plane, designed it, hired us to build it, and now he'll fly his dream... as we watch from the ground.

He orders us to push-start it. Rolls down a hill to a low cliff, and glides off, roaring. It's flying--barely. Redwood treetops on the slopes below nearly brush it... he threads around the tallest, through the gaps. I find myself hoping it stays in trouble--hope it doesn't soar! I don't want him to succeed. He's brilliant, but an arrogant man, hiding a dark anger that no one else shares his dream.

The air here has different moods or natures, and the plane configures itself somewhat differently in each. If he hits the correct kind, a dark-clear air (I'm puzzled why it's dark if it's clear, but with him it is--others might not see it that way!)... if the plane finds a solid enough stretch of this air, in which the memory of past lives are resident and accessible, then the ignition will catch fully, and he'll soar! Right now only two of his four cylinders are firing; ordinary clear air is too damp here in the redwoods, it seems. Fog won't work either. He needs dark clarity. He needs past lives.

Odd that the air he needs, dark air, parallels his inner dark.

I don't want the plane to crash, but I also don't want him rewarded with flight while he has this attitude toward us. We helped him achieve his dream and he treats us like nothing. My hate and my wonder are stuttering, half-firing, like his engine. The treetops are sharp and they form a jagged line--like jags on a graph. A graph of dream recall!

His plane totters and weaves on, thru the treetops, not quite crashing, not quite able to soar.

primitive plane barely clearing treetops
NOTES NEXT MORNING

Yesterday I talked with my friend Roxana about fear of success. I've been sabotaging myself "because I wouldn't cure my character flaws if I got rich, I'd indulge them all over the place and fill the holes with money." As if fear, envy and poverty have improved my character!

But since when was self-hate logical?

This was the first dream ever where I clearly WAS the saboteur, and could see his motive: hurt feelings! And that he was ambivalent: didn't want me to fail any more than succeed. It also clearly suggested how to solve the problem. Dark clarity, whatever that is, about past lives--past life memories are a key. Darkness may mean not trying to interpret events "nicely," as my suburban family does. Blind to malice! Or it could mean the clarity of the night, night vision--dreams themselves. The other kinds of air are the fog of denial, and ordinary waking consciousness...

The half-ignition of the plane engine, only two cylinders firing, surely warns my soul is unbalanced. Use Jungian terms like feeling sensing thinking intuition, or Native American terms like vision feeling introspection and thinking, or yogic/chakra terms, I don't care about names. But that inventor's brain, my brain, is only firing on two cylinders out of four most of the time... vision/intuition and introspection/thinking are there, but not much sensation, emotion, practical sense. Barely enough to stay aloft.

When all four get going, I can soar.

A FEW WEEKS LATER

My friend Mark is flying to New Jersey to see David's wedding. I'm impressed: I never thought a guy so traumatized by his crazy refugee parents would find someone to marry! I'm not going, but I wish David well. And wish I could find someone too. No, be honest. I wish I'd quit running from the women I do find!

THAT NIGHT

My sister Miriel is late for a plane flight to a ceremony some women friends are holding--a pre-wedding rite. She's supposed to be a witness. It's important to her.

My father Jerry is driving. We're not late yet, but it's still quite a way to the airport. Steep hills with rocky faces. But a river cuts on through, the road follows its sinuous canyon.

My dad's flying along the road--we're in a tiny plane, not a car! He keeps us at very low speed, probably less than many cars would go on this road. And he stays just above the pavement--flying under the power lines. On curves, the wingtips nearly hit the roadcut banks--he's too low, this is dangerous! Miriel keeps groaning. But instead of speeding up and rising a safe distance above the road, Jerry seems to slow down, if anything. I'm amazed the plane doesn't stall. I'd guess he's down to 45 mph... coupla feet above asphalt.

I rationalize for a moment "with powerlines so low, he has to stay close to the ground"...but he chose to pass under them and he ignores holes he could fly up through. Jerry's doing this deliberately, he wants her to miss that flight! Finally, when I nag him over and over "Go higher where it's safe!", he does. And then drones along in clear airspace at 45 knots where he could do 150. Miriel will miss her flight for sure, unless it's delayed.

Later, standing in line for something, I criticize him bitterly for sabotaging Miriel's trip. Tell her to phone the airport to see if she can exchange ticket for a seat on the next flight out. She "Oh, no, no..." I'm annoyed that she's so unassertive in the face of such sabotage, but I'm FURIOUS with my dad.

IN THE MORNING

Huh! So the saboteur who doesn't want me to soar is my father! Delay things, stay low (poor?) and "below the power lines" (powerless and invisible?). Miriel got the brunt of his sexism, but this dream suggests that part of our dad's discouragement of any ambition or pride (his complaint in DONT WANT HIM TO SOAR--the inventor was "arrogant" for pursuing his solitary vision) is based on class hatred! Successful people are bad--or go bad. So you must stay poor and unknown! This affects me as much as Miriel... and it isn't just annoying and impoverishing. There's real risk in staying so low! His stalling could lead to a fatal crash.

The wedding rite... my dad's attitude inside seems tinged with sexist disapproval of anything too girly. What's he riled up about, though? Hm... my friend Roxana invited me to a class with free psychic or pastlife readings. So many pastlife references lately! I was reluctant to go... But I better. It could just be my dad the skeptic, stalling.

Get moving--if I ever want to soar.



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