I woke up this morning crying... A dream...
I dreamt that I was flying. A most wonderful and thrilling feeling. I was nude, but the nakedness wasn't shameful but liberating, to the point of unawareness. There were others. Crowds of people watching me soar in amzement, as though I were a hero in action to be envied. There was an old house. A gutted old frame house being refrebished; an old black carpenter- hard at work. I landed beside him, as his ignore my flying ability; watching his woodworking craftsmanship with awe I asked him why others weren't excited, or weren't flying freely themselves. A little pigtailed girl came up to me, and said her father couldn't hear or seen her either because she had been dead for seven years already. - I came awake slowly crying, realizing that I had been dreaming and Alice rubbing my back comfortingly. I cried, not because I was "dead" but at the loss of "freedom" upon waking up.
To me the dream meant: We only find true freedom, not in dying but in truely living in the moments of bliss. Finding and embracing the bliss of each moment IS the meaning of life. The old man's craftmanship work was his legacy; deeds remembered.
