Fly Over the River Canyon, 9/18/84

A young man and I are sitting at a counter. As if starting on a trip, he takes a rolled sleeping bag from the room and through the swimming pool outside. I follow.

Then we are standing at a cliff overlooking a river canyon. Other young men are jumping and diving into the river, sometimes bouncing like rubber balls off the sides of the cliff, because the cliff isn't sheer enough to drop down vertically without hitting it.

I ask my companion, "Do you want to?" "Yes," he replies. "Well, let's fly over!" I urge him.

I take him by the right arm and together we fly across the canyon to the other side and over some obstructions or people below us. We come to a sheer cliff and turn 90° straight up. I fly us directly upwards, quite close to the sharp edge of the rock. I'm feeling exuberant; sure that we'll make it to the top, even though it's quite high. Flying upwards, I wake.