Ink, scene from a 1982/7/24 dream by Chris Wayan
Not what you think--I dreamed of a big brown paper bag full of wind. I didn't even think of "windbag" since it didn't talk a bit--it was all action. Fierce flying magic!
The moment the bag was opened a bit, it took off like a rocket--blew me right up the mountain, up a cliff through the stinging tops of pines, to the summit... Mr. Aeoleus' Wild Ride.
Can mere speaking up really lead me to the top?
I had this dream-drawing for decades, but it was undated; I never could connect it to its dream! While transcribing old journals, I stumbled on the scene today and added the date--and this note. Because the dream wasn't quite as I remembered it above. The wind was gentler--only if I held the bag just right did it let me rise far. And rather than practice bag-flight, I was stupidly obsessed with reaching my parents' house for some family obligation. I just didn't explore the opportunity the dream offered, to learn how to speak up and soar!
Don't make my mistake. If your bag gets you off the ground, use it. See where it takes you. Control's not everything.
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