A Memory of Flying

I am wrapped in milkweed flying high up in the sky. The softness of the milkweed is so soothing, I feel as if I am wrapped up safely inside a cocoon. I am looking up at the stars in the night, seeing how brightly they shine, how vibrant they look against the purple blue path of the milky way. I soon find myself closing my eyes, feeling into the softness of the milkweed as I am gliding gently in the air, a slight breeze brushes over me and I am curious about where I am headed.

When my feet feel the ground beneath me, I am standing in front of a cave. I knew when I walked into the cave whatever wanted to come out of me would.

When I walked into the cave, I instantly felt a sacred rage. I so angrily began drawing on the walls. There were no other drawings before mine, but there were tools there and I knew what they were for. I drew aggressively and I drew flowers that were quite large and towered over the houses I drew next to them. I saw myself in the picture, lying on my back, leaning against a house. I was looking up at the flowers and feeling a kind of safety underneath their petals. Though drawn with anger, they had a protective sense, watching over me.

I was completely relaxed lying there, and I watched a hummingbird, almost as large as the flower petal it flocked to, arrive and aggressively drink from the flower. I could tell it drank aggressively not because it felt it had to hurry, but because it was not ashamed to feel that feeling of “I just can’t get enough”. I could feel what the hummingbird was feeling, I could feel it finding what it had been looking for but it has taken so long to find.

And it found it. And it found it. And it found it.