| Flying with Bob Trowbridge, 11/27/87
I am high above San Francisco Bay, heading south over the strait between
Marin County and SF. Bob Trowbridge is to my right. Although we're not
holding hands, I know his fingers are just inches away from mine and I
could "reach out and touch" him with very little effort. With
an exhilarated thrill, I realize we've finally done it: learned how to
fly.
Projecting forward, I see we could swoop down toward a lawn by the bay
behind which are some pink buildings with green trim, and then bear left
along the coast. While considering this, I suddenly hear the "Thumpa,
thumpa, thumpa" of helicopter blades. Oh, oh, we've been spotted and
are being investigated. A military/patrol helicopter suddenly looms into
range to the right of Bob and both of us turn to look that way.
Through the door glass I see one of two men, a pilot with headgear and
dark glasses facing directly toward us. He is mouthing the words, "I
don't believe it!!!" and ends with his mouth hanging open. My own
face turns into an enormous grin.
I start using my hand to indicate to Bob that we change direction. I
lift my hand back to indicate "stop". We could stall and go into
free fall, but at the speed we're going, unless we do it at exactly the
same time, we'd be separated. So I change my mind and decide that we slow
down instead and bear right to cross behind the helicopter. We'd still
be at the same level, though, and the helicopter could turn and begin a
game of catch up. So I finally decide the best solution would be to slow
down, let the helicopter go ahead and swoop down underneath the Golden
Gate Bridge and loose the helicopter. I so indicate to Bob with my hand.
Note: A week and a half later, I was driving Bob and myself south across
the Golden Gate to San Francisco. He was seated to my right in the car
when I suddenly felt a sense of dejá vù. I recognized the
same feelings as in the flying dream. I wondered about the helicopter pilot
and remembered him with his head set and goggles. Goggles! Of course. Bob
and I had been on the way to a guest lecture at a lucid dreaming class
that was trying out Stephen La Berge's light mask. The "pilot"
was the host of the class, Fred Olsen.
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