An Earthling's Cosmic Conundrum

Once upon a time, in the quirky realm of dreamland, I found myself at the helm of a UFO. Now, you’d think that in a dream, I’d be a perfect pilot, right? Wrong.

The UFO felt like trying to drive a stick shift on the steep inclines of San Francisco. I was lurching forward, then stalling, blipping in and out of existence like a faulty light bulb. I wobbled as the ducks do in Golden Gate Park, and I could almost hear snickering, “Even in dreams, Earthlings can't get their goodness settings right!”

To make matters worse, I was fuming. Why? Because the daemon, who was supposed to be my trusty charioteer, gave me control of the thing. I had imagined him as a seasoned pilot just as Plato says, guiding me through the cosmos with grace. Instead, I got the feeling he was off somewhere, meditating among the stars, perhaps seeking another pupil, while I struggled to stay afloat.

“Of all the dreams,” I grumbled, “I had to be the one who can’t even fly a UFO properly. Next time, I’m asking for a manual!”

And as the dream faded, I could almost hear the daemon’s gentle voice, “It’s all in Plato child, all in Plato.”