Past the Take-off Ramp

I’ve been collecting my thoughts like one would collect rainwater to measure its downfall. I have a lot of them and I am starting to know them now. I’ve been almost in a state of meditation. After my moment of apparent trials: yelling at friends, panicking, facing more wild dreams… I was burnt out. I had crashed my bike too many times on the start up ramp and I needed to stop and recollect my bones.

I’m ready to go again. I had another dream three nights ago, and I’ve had the same one each night since, but this one isn’t driving me insane; this one is my answer. The dream goes like this: I’m sitting on Evel Knievel’s bike at the front of the starting ramp. I’m wearing white. This time it’s not a bridal gown like so many other dreams where I’m being attacked by Evel’s ex-wives. This time it’s nothing virginal or sacrificial. This white represents my power. I’m a goddess, or an angel, or something.  I’m in control.

I rev the engine and I’m the one with the steel eyes, I’m the one with the flames, I’m the one with the mechanic infrastructure. I look ahead of me and see what I need to do. I know what I need to ask. I know what I want. I am flying, I am not panicking, I am not mundane, I am not afraid. Below me I see the dark cavern where I have been waiting. The lions, snakes, acid, and demons hoping for my failure are only manifestations of my past struggles. Now I fly over them. I don’t think about the landing, that time will come. I don’t think about my take-off, that time has past. I don’t think about my crashes, those times do not define me. I fly up and separate myself from the cold Earth.

In sleeping I have woken up. I’ve got my track. I am no longer spinning in circles. Evel, what do you fear most? What do you think about in the air? What was your first flight like? 

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