Mostly I have the same dreams. It's always been that way - probably 60 or 70 percent of my dreams recur at least a few times. They don't bore me, because I have so many of them, hundreds still even if they go into reruns. Some of them are so common I know immediately that I'm dreaming; some of them are nightmares from which I've become quite skilled at waking myself. Some only repeat twice or three times, with months in between. Once I dreamt the same dream every night for two weeks.

And then sometimes, I have new dreams every night. It almost makes me uneasy, not knowing where I'll be when I fall asleep. Often times, even if the dream itself is different, it takes place in one of a handful of familiar landscapes - there is a dream version of my childhood home, of Tassajara, a dream mountain where I hike and where most flying dreams begin, other houses, rivers, kingdoms. Sometimes I resist waking because the dreams are so intricate, so brocaded with meaning and detail that I hate to leave them. Sometimes they seem brighter and more substantial than the day that follows. Sometimes I wonder if they aren't more real.