Colours over Calcutta

Have you ever had that dream? You know, that dream where you’re flying?

When I was a child, I used to have it all the time, at least once a week. I would whoosh over my garden and over my neighbour’s fence, dangerously close to the wooden spikes until I would rise higher and higher, almost skimming the clouds as I soared, arms outstretched, head held high.

I could feel the adrenaline coursing through me, the butterflies in my stomach, the wind through my hair. It was the most amazing dream.

I’m not sure why I was having that dream, psychologists and interpreters of dreams may be able to provide a deep and meaningful answer but I suspect it is because I was always a little fascinated by the sky, flying, being above and beyond. Superman could fly, so could Super Girl and when Halloween came around my favourite teacher convinced me she could too, on a broomstick. I had dreams about that too, incidentally, actually believing that I could make a broomstick fly but with disastrous consequences. The dreams were so real, I could feel the constraints of the tiny living room, I had unwisely chosen to practise in.

The power of our dreams, when we are young, is no small thing. If you can dream it, you can achieve it. That’s what I thought. And who is to say we’re not all dreaming now? You’ve heard that theory before, I’m sure! It’s nothing new.

Are we dreaming? Are we a part of someone else’s dream? And if so, shouldn’t we try to do something more extraordinary with our existences than just exist?

Call me a dreamer, but I’m feeling quite cheerful today. I put it down to the lack of sleep, ironically! I put it down to the colours in the sky. I feel like almost anything is possible. Quite a turn around from yesterday, but I’ll take my hope where I can get it, thanks!