Flight

I often dream of biracial people, men in particular, and I've worked out that there's a call for integration involved in these dreams.  I've established a personal meaning for this recurring character, and it's part of my dictionary of symbols now.  

This morning's dream felt like some kind of commentary on my established definitions---I'm still working it out:

I'm standing before a large mirror on a covered boardwalk near a sparkling ocean on a beautiful, sunny day.  The beach is deserted, as if it's off-season but just one of those remarkable perfect-weather days for a non-tourist to take advantage of.  I'm at peace and unencumbered by fear or any kind of need for something else.  The mirror reflects me as having long, ash-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and pale skin.  I'm taller and bigger, a plus-sized woman, unusually pretty and feminine.  I'm very surprised, amazed and encouraged by this reflection, even though I know it's not "what I really look like" to other people.  I realize, because of what I see, that I can now try flying.  In my initial effort, I'm flapping vigorously and my progress is okay, but kind of jerky and unpredictable.  I soon come to understand that by letting the wind lift, sustain and carry me, and using my arms more like oars or tillers, just for steering in this medium of air, I can expend much less effort while flying much more effectively.  I can look around, and get my bearings, and feel the joy of flight, by trusting the forces that carry me along.

Huh.