Dreaming of flying is the similarity between human beings and all wingless creatures in the world. You don't know, under the night sky, the moon has a silver tide, gently calling the soul of everything. She called for us in the apartment on the twelfth floor, and also called for earthworms who were extremely tired in the wild and slept in the mud, and fish who snored in the water. She patiently shouted one after another, just like Noah was calling the roll and told us to file into the cabinet.
The ark is God's will to save us from rain and flood. If so, I don't believe you haven't dreamed of flying. When life itself enslaves our body and will, there are always invisible demons roaring in dreams.
Where? No need to step on hot wheels. After the 20th century, we have been unable to draw the images and outlines of the ancient eastern gods. Believe me, anyone who casually changes Nezha to Chun-Li with a double bun is not qualified to control the unique somersault cloud. We dare not even dream of Xiangyun, hot wheels, Shen Peng, cranes or flying horses with one horn. Individualism makes us understand that dreams are where we practice, and we don't need to practice hard. Flying in dreams, always waiting for the right time. At that moment, you will find that flying to you is an innate ability, just like birds can naturally measure wind resistance when they are full-fledged, just like dandelions can travel long distances against the wind. Or you may suspect that the reason why the dream has been silent for many years may be just to suppress the invisible wing and make the flight suffer from the essence of the sun and the moon, and finally break out of the cocoon.
Don't say that you never wanted to fly, and don't say that you never longed for a pair of wings or a carpet. Alibaba is too far away for our shrinking imagination to penetrate the web woven by Arabian Nights, but you can't deny that you still miss Tinker Bell's bamboo dragonfly. Dreams are your eight treasures: bamboo dragonfly, time machine, random door, within reach. They often help you escape, escape, and let us walk out of the desolate years and drought fate again and again.
Stop it, if you are a descendant of the Chinese people, why don't you understand that freehand brushwork is flowing in our bodies, and flying is a necessary blank space in life. Therefore, Zhuang Zhou, Meng Xiao and Liang Zhu became butterflies only because long ago, our ancestors had decided that there was no pure land in this world. Only by flying can we look for the sunken Eden or the blissful western paradise in the distance from the overlooking angle.
Our ancient ancestors in the East knew the meaning of flying better than anyone else. Don't tell me that westerners invented hot air balloons and airplanes, because our nation is obsessed with dreams, while others dare to practice them. Even so, we know in our hearts that those heavy tools have not really realized human desire for flying. Think about it, the word "fly" has a light pronunciation and a vain ending. When it is soft, it is like a breeze pouring diabolo, and when it is sick, it is like a sharp arrow piercing the air layer. Our dream flight will be like a flying kite. We must have close skin contact with the wind, just like fish and water. No, you don't understand. Ross and Jack are standing in the bow of the Titanic, fluttering in the wind, which is far more intimate than sitting in a cabin at an altitude of 30,000 meters. Just because of the wind, flying is when you embrace the wind and glide in the endless air of Wan Li. She touches you, kisses your cheeks and hair, and makes one exciting turn after another. If you don't feel the wind speed when flying, it's just as funny as the driving scenes in the old movies that only pull the background, just like the virtual road on the treadmill, without any scenery.
Then I tell you, the texture of flying is closer to skiing or surfing, and there is an unrelenting fluency in speed, as if closing your eyes and throwing yourself into the arms of death. Of course, you must first understand that there are two kinds of flies, one is Pengfei and the other is cicada flying. Peng's back is thousands of miles, his wings hang down, and the universe is only big enough for short trips; Cicada is as thin as paper, and it is not enough. Their ambition is not in Wan Li, but when they are tired, they live on the elm tree. We are so ordinary that we naturally dare not look back at Dapeng, but cicadas are good. Although our life is in a hurry, our life is also very free.
It's good to fly. We have long given up Superman's dream of going from the Eastern Hemisphere to the Western Hemisphere. We just want to be as light as a swallow and dance ballet. That red cloak is still useful. Its poop-poop sound makes you feel the wind moving and know how you are incisively and vividly disembowelled. A long time ago, we longed for a world where everyone could fly. The place we call Wulin is the Garden of Eden, which rises again after Lu Chen, and the Tower of Babel, which we are still tirelessly rebuilding in our dreams. In a modern word, you should understand that this is a virtual flying club.
Flying, we all look forward to such heroes. Flying is the ultimate sublimation of human strength, surpassing Samson's long hair and Hercules' arm. It lets you decide your desire for freedom. I always thought that if you could fly, the overlord of Lashan River would not commit suicide on the banks of Wujiang River.
Speaking of which, how can you believe that you have never dreamed of flying? In particular, your soul covered with a female body has been stuck in the eyes of others by dresses and high heels for many years. All freedom is to gamble on dreaming at night and see if you can soar in your dreams. Unfortunately, most of the time we are escaping from our dreams, and the shadow of the devil has been hanging over us for a long time. In those dreams, you faced danger countless times, and suddenly you had the courage and ability to fly, jumping off the high roof and long stairs with open arms. Dream is a weightless toolkit, which carries you and makes you lighter than a feather. So I can fly. At one time, you thought that flying made your existence arbitrary, but your dreams were too tight. Night after night, you are chasing one unknown monster after another on the endless spiral staircase in a gyro-like dream.
Sometimes you jump up in panic and stop on the handrail like a bird. But the devil's face seems to be attached to your earlobe, and the sticky fishy smell hisses into your ear socket. This dream is the same but private secret of all women for thousands of years. The enclosed space in the dream has a strange atmosphere as high as the blast furnace. Legend has it that some of our ancestors once had the will to fly here. She lifted her sleeves and looked back at the world, only to see the blue sea and blue sky. She was already on the moon. Oh moon, who says this is not the farthest escape we imagined, far away from the world, outside the cloud nine. You stand in the maze of reinforced concrete, with your head held high. Damn clouds always block our view of the gods and heaven. Flying is the only way for us to surpass it. Open the ancient books, how many immortals have been free from dust and refined since ancient times, and which one is not a colorful cloud with clean hands?
To tell the truth, flying is not an ability that we lost in ancient times. Our ancestors could never fly, so human beings squeezed out their desire for flying in the depression of thousands of years. We are eager to surpass all our abilities and fly at God's ankles outside the gates of heaven. We always think that there is a different dimensional space in the sky that we can't see with our naked eyes, and assume that it is more harmonious and beautiful than the world. We believe, just as Xuanzang believed, that there is a Buddhist paradise at the end of the long road, and there is a law in the Buddhist paradise, which can help all beings. Can this method be the flight itself, otherwise how can this "degree" be detached?
You think that dreams are so mysterious, strange and chaotic, but in fact, they have their own context throughout the ages: dreams have their central ideas, and flying is one of the major propositions. Speaking of which, I should thank the monster in the dream who has been panting and chasing behind. He stimulated the wings of polio on our backs, making it suddenly bloom like a bud and instantly releasing the idea of flying. Fly, let's cruise in time and space, watch our ancestors glide in their midday dreams, and find a lost paradise.
That's it. Why do you laugh at me for translating the language in my dream or studying the symbols in my dream so seriously? You can't fly, always because you have been burdened with heavy reality for a long time and have evolved into a camel. If it weren't for the lack of imagination about flying, how do you think camels could cross the endless Sahara desert? Occasionally, it looks back at its overlapping footprints in the desert, thinking that the world has no hierarchy, just a piece of yellow sand. Then, I dreamed that I was just another plane, and the flying one was nailed there, which was a bird-shaped paper-cut.
Flying is so precious because dreams are the only place where it can land. You can only wait there to ride it. Looking back, you will see the world under your feet, so small, just an island.