Telepathic Tendencies
I miss the dreams.
As a young lad I always presumed to have some sort of telepathic abilities that lay untapped, awaiting the proper combination of concentration and effort to unlock their amazing powers of clairvoyance, coercion, telekinesis and, of course, telepathy. At night I would lay awake, listening to my parents talking downstairs with some of their friends, anticipating the words they would say as they said them in my mind (which, I convinced myself, was irrefutable proof of my Special Powers) and attempting to "get ahead" by actually anticipating what they would say before they said it. The accuracy rate on the latter never really broke above 10%.
Other times I would try to move objects with my mind, staring at them with an intensity that caused all other objects to fade from my vision, concentrating so hard that I gave myself headaches and quit long before I ever successfully willed an inanimate object's movement. For years I told myself that I just hadn't "developed" fully yet, and that in time my powers would reveal themselves if I just kept trying.
For a brief time I became convinced of the power of my subconscious mind, and that my approach to the telepathic arts was simply flawed in that I was trying too hard to develop the potential that obviously lay just beneath the surface, awaiting my inattention to be fully realized. After all, my full undivided concentration didn't seem to be working, so the logical alternative was clear: just let it happen of its own accord. It was then that the dreams began.
Over the span of about one year I had the most clairvoyant, perfectly rendered dreams I have ever had. Night after night I fell asleep to greet a world in which I was in complete control. I knew I was dreaming and was able to do the things that I could not in the waking world � anticipate thoughts and words, move objects with my mind, and of course, fly.
Each morning as I awoke I would blend my dreams with brief moments of consciousness, imagining myself to be writing a profound book or poem, or talking with someone sitting beside my bed or across the room. And each morning, I awoke surprised that the person was not actually there, and that I could not remember the plot of the book which was so profoundly pieced together.
Eventually the dreams departed as suddenly as they had come, leaving in their stead the ordinary, can't-hardly-remember-a-single-part dreams that most of us are accustomed to. The presumptions of telepathic abilities also faded to mere curiosity into elements of the supernatural, and the occasional clairvoyant moment.
I miss the dreams.