Flying

     Whoops! Maybe you were looking for the Flying Spaghetti Monster?

I had another flying dream last night. At least, I think I did... with dreams, it's hard to tell. Just some vague notion of spreading my arms and taking to the sky, embracing the storm that inevitably comes, beautiful and dark and full of noise and death and life. And lakes. There were lakes, there are always lakes, lined with trees and roiling dark in the wind, mirroring the darkness of the sky... because of the storm, you know? That storm that is always there, that you have to fly through, or it isn't really flying, now is it?

Or is that just me? Hells, you're not here for my dreams, you're here for the thing itself. The flight itself.

It itself

Well, I wouldn't know. I've never done it, myself. Not once, not even on a plane or a drat or even dangling from a rope, swinging across some span, or with any sort of contraption at all, only in dreams, and in those I am rarely myself. Other people, usually. Nobody, sometimes. Nobody in particular more often, although I'd often fall under that categorisation myself. As would most folks, I suppose.

I wonder who all I have been? You, perhaps? Someone you know? Have you ever been me and flown... as me?

The mind grows so fuzzy in dreams, and with it, everything else. It's all believable. The sky is as soft as the mind, and the world equally as malleable. Though my class too poor for such things in waking, I have flown upon an aeroplane, watched the ground drop away to an ambiguous surface, and entering the clouds, everything becomes so soft and white and grey... or does it? I've never really done it, despite what my memory might tell me. Just imagined, right? But it can imagine so much. From a few words I read years back, my mind put it together into form and I likewise know what it is to ride a drat, one of those glorious winged cats who never let anyone but the most purebloods even near them, though my blood in the waking world is much too weak for the drats' desires, too weak to even ward them off. Nothing more than prey, I am, but in dreams I have called them dear and they have come to my will, and the wonderful feeling of weightlessness as their wings pull us from the earth, it is like nothing else...

But you're not here for my dreams, now are you?

Unfortunately, I do not know anything else.