Standing on the top of a mountain, poised at the edge of a cliff, I knew I was dreaming even in the middle of this one, because no way would I get that close to the edge of anything. I was too scared of heights—well, falling from heights, that is. Anyway, my grandfather was beside me and he was urging me, “Go ahead. Jump.” I turned to look at him like he was crazy, and he put a hand in the middle of my back and pushed. Not a hard push, but it was enough to make me stumble backward and suddenly realize there wasn’t anything beneath my feet. I flailed my arms and suddenly I was held aloft by what felt like the air currents below my feet. I reminded myself that it was all a dream anyway and turned in mid-air like an acrobat, falling back into an air current that cradled my body and held me up. Relaxing, I rode it down, soaring over the valley below. It was so peaceful and serene that when the first loud thump came from downstairs, I wasn’t just startled awake, I almost fell out of bed.
