This one is from Thursday night.

For some reason, Jan wants to go down to Mexico. We’re discussing where she wants to go while looking at a large wall map. She keeps pointing towards the southern part of the country, almost to the Yucatan. I’m thinking that it should be a lot closer.

Then we’re there. It’s a small village, almost stereotypical. Dirt streets, adobe structures. We walk into a small store. Lots of red, white, and green everywhere. I notice a shelf with boxes of chocolate candy. They look like the heart-shaped boxes typical of Valentine chocolate. I can see that they’re made by Nestlé. My boss is there, too. He wants to buy all of this Nestlé candy to bring back to the office.

My boss and I walk into a small side room. There is a clerk there that starts trying to sell my boss some special pornography. I’m standing back and don’t see exactly what he’s selling. Jan walks into the doorway, impatient with us. The clerk looks up and starts hemming and hawing, moving the porn off of the counter. Jan sees it and gets a shocked look on her face, and walks out.

I wake up.

I had this dream last week, but forgot about it until just now.

It looks like I have the ability to fly again. I’m confronted by a group of tough characters, and I intimidate them away by leaping up about 12 or so feet and hovering there, like some kind of maniacal demon. It was complete with dark lighting and sound effects. That was pretty cool. I do it again a couple of more times.

I seem to be on a patio built into a hillside that overlooks a long lake or reservoir or wide canal. On the other side of the lake/canal there are docks and industrial buildings. I fly down to the water and skim across the water down the length of the canal. I’m really moving at top speed, and I move however I think. If I think faster, I move faster. At the end of the canal, I turn around and really turn on the juice. I’m skimming across the water like a water-skier, at over 200mph. This is the most control I’ve ever had in a flying dream before.

I dart back up to the patio. Jan tells me I should be helping people with this power. Directly across the canal there are huge warehouses that are built up on stilts. They’re about 30-40 feet above the ground. Underneath them are railroad tracks. I can see a train that has derailed. I fly across the canal to help. Gesturing dramatically, I attempt to lift the rail cars using the power of my mind. I’ve never done this before, but I feel pretty confident I can do it.

A bit too well, as it turns out. Not only do the rail cars lift into the air, but in one swift movement, they crash into ceiling. And I mean CRASH! Whoops! I let the cars sink slowly to the ground, and I slink away.

I wake up.

One thing I hate about my dreams is that I frequently can’t remember very far back into the story. This is one of those.

I’m walking down a hallway that is on an upper floor. I remember having some kind of tripping incident, and know that everyone is going to give me grief about it. At the end of the hallway is a staircase leading down. There is also a small orchestra in a niche next to the staircase. The conductor, who knows me, is about to say something witty about not tripping down the stairs, but I hold up my finger (index) to forestall his comments.

Downstairs there is a party going on with all of my relatives. It reminds me of a Christmas party, but a lot higher class. To make a joke of my clumsy feet, I intentionally stumble down the stairs, but in such a fashion as to make it look intentional and show that I have control on the way down. Everyone applauds.

My parents are there, too. But for some reason, they’re birds. And they’re in separate cages. Not because they’ve been put there, but because that’s where they want to be. I walk up to the cages, and my father, who is a raven, hops out of the cage and lights on my left shoulder. I step over to my mother’s cage, and she is perched on the door. I don’t know how to describe her any better than she looks like a parakeet the size of a stereotypical pirate’s parrot. When she sees me, she starts singing a wordless tune in a voice that I can only describe as similar to Gizmo, the mogwai in the movie Gremlins. It seems to be some long-forgotten classical piece of music, but I can no longer remember what it might be.

I can literally feel her love for me radiating from her. I hold out my hand, and she hops on. I place her on my right shoulder. She is nuzzling my cheek with her beak, all the while singing her haunting melody. The love from both of my parents is absolutely palpable.

I wake up. I wish I could remember how the tune goes.