(8/21/08) instructor of the flying building

(Entered in paper journal at 6:05 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)

Dream #1

It was daytime. I was in a flying building. I might have been a kid, with a couple other kids, or myself at my age, with a couple other people my age. An instructor or guide was with us.

The building was flying all over an enormous city like New York, as if it were giving us a tour. They daylight was golden, and the city seemed to expand forever.

We went past one building I found particularly beautiful -- it must have been enormous, larger than all the other buildings around it. It had a sleek shape, and its glassy walls had a metallic, purple, pink, orange, and gold iridescence to them.

After a while, the building started to go into a spin. I thought we were going to crash. We seemed to regain control, and we were now floating over the outskirts of the city. But it was still like we were going to crash.

We floated over a baseball field which I called Ebbets Field. We descended down to one of the top rows of seats, twisted around, and slammed into some kind of netting which stood at the end of an aisle. This was our crash -- and apparently our building was now small enough for this all to be possible.

For one moment I stood down on the field, looking up at the bleachers. They didn't seem to rise very high.

Now I stood in a big, dim, grey room. I stood in an area that was slightly divided from the rest of the room. The floor between men and the rest of the room rose up (like a step) about six inches, then made a platform about six feet wide. On the platform were possibly a few glasses with thick, figure-eight shapes with yellow and green fluid in them.

In the main area of the room were a group of people who were around my age. We were all waiting for our instructor to arrive. I made a comment about how if she was this late she might never arrive.

Now our instructor was here. The glasses were all replaced (or smashed?), each by three six-inch by six-inch squares of pale wood, the top square of which was painted a slatey grey on its top surface.

There was a comic-book-style drawing of the woman on the platform between the piles of wood. The drawing was of the woman looking over her shoulder, back at the spectator. The drawing was mostly in black and white, with some shading in a pine green.

I looked up. The woman stood before me in almost the same pose as in the drawing. The woman had a tough look about her. She wore a black tank top and green pants. Her skin was olive-toned, her eyes were greenish blue, and her hair was dark red-brown. The woman said something to me about how I shouldn't have thought she would never arrive.