You know what’s so ironic about this submission from David S., is that I have no dream experience with flying. In fact, unless I was sleeping during that part of the dream courses I took (missed opportunity for a pun there), my instructors never talked about dream flying. All my experience with flying is in the external reality.
Let’s see if this excellent post generates more interest in the area of dream flying. If so, I’ll start a separate page and we’ll take it wherever everyone wants to go! Okay?
Flying
While I attended elementary school, I was afraid of falling; maybe because I almost fell off a slide in first or second grade. Anyway, I had a recurring nightmare of falling.
One dream I had over and over, that was particularly vivid, was riding in the back of the car, when the road starting getting narrower and narrower. Finally it would be only a few inches wide, and the car would tip off. (Somehow everybody else and the car always disappeared before I fell.) By this time the road was a narrow ribbon over a bottomless gorge, and I would fall and wake up.
After a while, the dreams started getting a little more creative; I was being chased across a cliff face, THEY would catch me and push me off, and I would fall a hundred feet or so. Once in a while, in these dreams, I would actually hit the ground, die, and come back as a ghost to haunt whoever was chasing me – usually Russian secret agents. I guess I was getting used to falling.
I continued having nightmares about falling, but during that time, I started to resist the idea of falling to my death. At the last moment, I always tried to create some sort of anti-gravity field that would stop my fall, and finally succeeded.
Just being able to create an anti-gravity field is not the same thing as actually flying. If the field was too strong, I’d fly straight into the stratosphere, and wake up. (I think I conked out from lack of oxygen.) If I tried to descend, I’d pick up too much speed and be unable to stop before I hit the ground. My last memory before waking would be the crater I’d made from coming in so fast.
After several years, I learned to use just my hands to resist gravity, instead of my whole body, and to never go up or down, but always go at a very shallow angle sideways. I was finally able to fly.
I was terribly concerned about anyone finding out I could fly; in fact, I just barely escaped quite a few witch hunts in my dreams.
The first ten years or so of flying was mostly at night, usually in bad weather. I’d skim the black storm clouds and not even see the ground except when I was taking off or landing.
One bad thing about my dreams was that the telephone poles and wires were much higher in my dreams than in real life. I had a lot of problems trying to avoid them and running into them.
My flying speed, at best, was not much better than I could run, so it took many years. Starting in Texas, I flew northeast over New England, Canada, Greenland, Iceland, and Ireland. Once I crossed England and started into Europe, it turned into daylight flying. It was at this point that the witch hunts stopped.
By the time I flew parallel to the eastern coast of Italy(?), I didn’t have to be so careful about hiding the fact I could fly. Also, three other people who could fly also joined me during some sort of naval battle. (I did my best not to get involved.) One was my brother. I don’t remember who the other two were, but I think they were female.
I still didn’t have any idea where I was going, or even that I WAS going anywhere, but I finally arrived in India.
I met my oldest sister in a little house inside some sort of military compound. She was very glad to see me. (More so than ever in real life.) She also had a much more loving expression on her face than I have ever seen in real life. She explained to me that the one I thought was her, was actually a spy, planted by the Russians, or maybe the Indians.
She then introduced me to a British RAF sergeant, (I think his name was Sam) who had worked at the embassy (British, I assume), and who she said would tell me the rest of the story. She then was escorted out by Indian soldiers. Sam told me I was the only one who could see him because he was dead, and a ghost. No one else could see me, either. He told me we needed to hurry up because we didn’t have much time.
At that point a big fat voodoo witch walked through the door of the little house, saw us, and screamed. With her voodoo magic, she destroyed or banished the British Sergeant’s ghost and then did the same to me.
My understanding is that the Indians were stealing nuclear bomb research data from the USA and the UK and needed to conceal any evidence. I woke up and haven’t dreamed that particular dream series since. That last dream was in the mid 1990s.
The whole series seemed to have more detail and substance than most dreams.
Since then, I have always been able to fly anytime I want to, in my dreams.
