Sunday, September 25, 2011
conscious flying
just like this.
I’m standing on the top of some kind of structure, and looking to get down. Just before I jump to the ground, I realize it’s too far to land without hurting myself, but it’s too late.
The fall takes a long time, and in the middle of it I think, Okay, I’m dreaming. I can just fly out of this if I accept that I can. So I do.
Below me are a dozen or so people staring up at me, speechless. I can see the surprised O’s of their open mouths.
Usually my flying dreams self-destruct in a matter of seconds. The realization that I’m dreaming makes me anxious to get in a bit of flying before I wake up. The conscious fear of waking up then makes me wake up: a self-fulfilling prophecy.
But since I’m half-awake when it happens this time, I decide to try getting back into it. I focus on a simple image: a blue bar. In my mind there is silence that gradually becomes a pleasant buzz. This blue bar slowly takes on some texture and dimension, and becomes a building ledge, one I’m hanging off, high above the street.
As soon as I recognize that I’m fully back into a dream, I take off from the ledge, flying around an unfamiliar city. It’s the first time I’ve ever entered a dream entirely aware and in control.
This lasts for only a minute or so, and then something wakes me up again. I try the exercise again, and this time as the buzz grows the image becomes a man, maybe a window washer, pulling himself along a line under which he’s suspended, a line that connects the roofs of two buildings. I fly right past him under the line.
Far below me the city block ends and there’s a body of water. I make a wide U-turn back to the city. Just when the water meets the land again, I wake up, and can’t get back to sleep after that.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
mission failed.
only less jolly.
Our publishing company had received threats from the local union that they would come by at some point and spray the building with machine guns. The CEO decided to close the office except to essential staff. Everyone stayed home out of fear.
Marquise, Paul, Damien, and I volunteered to go on a covert undercover mission to join the union and expose their violent ways. The idea was to secretly film them with our iPhones while they were doing something rowdy, then send it to the press to get public opinion against them. No one else at our company, except the CEO, knew we were doing this.
We found one of their meetings and blended in. Pretty quickly, they began advocating for the death of their enemies. We got it all on video without anyone noticing.
But then they all started collecting into carpool groups. It turned out the union boss had included in the agenda for that day to go down to the former Defense Secretary’s house and rough him up. Apparently the Secretary had hired an assassin to take out the union boss. The boss didn’t want to kill the Secretary, just scare him into submission.
The three of us were split up into different cars. The other union members in my cars started introducing themselves to me and asking me about my line of work. After only a second’s hesitation, I said, “Boiler rooms.” I almost said “plumber,” but then realized there could easily be another plumber around and I didn’t want him to start asking me specific things about plumbing, of which I knew nothing. Boiler repair seemed an exotic enough job without being too unbelievable. It worked.
We got to the the Defense Secretary’s house and actually parked our van in his garage. Then we all got our weapons, mostly blunt instruments. Mine was a board with a nail in it. The plan was to run around to the backyard, where the Secretary was, and overwhelm him. For some reason Marquise had to do this nude. I was barefoot and shirtless in shorts.
As we ran across the front lawn toward the backyard entrance, I heard someone call, “Yoo hoo! Oh, yoo hoo!”
It was the Secretary’s neighbor, calling out the window of her adjoining apartment! I decided to ignore her, hoping she wouldn’t realize what was going on until it was too late. But then she continued:
“Oh, Mr. Mittlefehldt!”
Horrorstruck, I turned around. It was Rita, a coworker. Not knowing I was undercover, she clearly thought I was part of the union and was doing bad things. She yelled out her window at me, making it clear that I should not continue my acts, and that it was in my best interest to come into her apartment before she called the police.
I didn’t know what to do. It didn’t occur to me to tell Rita that we were undercover. I motioned to Damien to go back to the car so we could get out — but we still needed to get Marquise and Paul. He clearly wanted to continue with the mission, saying out of exasperation, “I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
Then I woke up.
rafi's dream blog 