I’m jumping.

I’m jumping over snakes, and doing my best not to land on any. Not because I’m scared of getting bitten, but because I’m scared of killing one. I’m jumping high, and with every jump I feel the time stretch out in front of me. I pull at it with my will, and I turn mid-air like a billiard ball with English on it. It is at this point I realize I have control over the length and direction of the jumps. If I concentrate with everything inside me I can glide at the apex of my jump and turn five feet into twenty. Every jump becomes longer. Every glide becomes higher. I can stop in one place and will myself up-up-up. I am no longer dodging snakes. Now I’m grazing tree-tops with my fingers, and looking to see if I can see my house from here.

“Why don’t I do this every day?” I think to myself.

“You are dreaming,” the answer comes back loud and clear, still in my voice.

And opening my eyes, I look at the monitor to see if the baby needs covering, wrap an arm around my wife, and try to get back into the skies.



Photo credit: Walt Stoneburner

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