I woke up around 2:30 in the morning after a vivid dream. In it, I was packing backpacks for a journey of some kind. My family and I boarded a bus, headed toward where we would start walking, a trailhead of some kind. We were driving through a war-torn, abandoned city. Halfway there, terrorists boarded the bus, turned it around, and ordered everyone to get on the floor of the bus. I stood up, opened the back door, and left the bus in full view of the terrorists. As I walked in front of the bus, I began to fly. My husband asked me, “How high do we fly?” There’s a battle raging under us, so we have to fly high enough to avoid getting shot. “Just under the radar,” I answered. And then I woke up, and stayed wide awake for two hours.
It’s stuck with me since, and I wish I knew why.