I think I usually have quite ordinary dreams. Sometimes my dreams

The words of Uri Geller, mystic and performer of the extraordinary, shimmer with the mystery of the unseen world: “I think I usually have quite ordinary dreams. Sometimes my dreams take me to other dimensions. I can travel in my mind especially when I'm dreaming; I focus my mind on what I want to dream. If I want to fly, I focus on flying.” In these words lies not mere wonder, but a revelation about the power of the human mind — that within the quiet realm of sleep, one may command the very fabric of imagination. Geller’s insight is not only about dreams but about conscious creation, about how thought shapes experience, whether in the dream world or the waking one. He speaks as one who knows that the boundary between the two is thinner than most believe.

The origin of this idea lies in Geller’s lifelong fascination with the mysteries of consciousness and energy. Known to many as a man who bent spoons and claimed to channel psychic forces, he has always lived at the border between skepticism and faith, between science and the supernatural. His words about dreams are not the claims of a showman alone — they are the reflections of one who sees the mind as a universe, capable of travel, creation, and discovery. In his vision, the dream is not chaos; it is a realm of intention, a place where will and imagination merge to form reality in its most fluid state.

When he says, “I focus my mind on what I want to dream,” he describes a practice known since ancient times: the art of lucid dreaming. The mystics of Egypt, the shamans of Siberia, and the monks of Tibet all spoke of this — of mastering the dream as a vessel for transformation. The Egyptian priests believed that the soul, freed from the body during sleep, could travel through the spiritual planes to seek wisdom or prophecy. The Tibetan Book of the Dead describes dream yoga — the discipline of becoming aware within dreams to gain mastery over illusion itself. Geller’s words echo this lineage, though in modern form: he reminds us that the dreamer can become the creator, that through focus, one can turn the dream into a temple of freedom and flight.

The image of flying that he evokes is as old as humanity’s longing. To fly in dreams is to break the chains of limitation — to rise above gravity, above fear, above the weight of the material world. Every culture has seen in this vision a symbol of spiritual ascent. When Geller says, “If I want to fly, I focus on flying,” he reveals more than a technique; he reveals a philosophy of life. For to focus one’s mind on flight, even in dreams, is to train the soul toward transcendence — toward believing that what is imagined can become real. Just as the bird trusts the wind, so must we trust the power of our own thought to carry us beyond what we have known.

History offers us a story that mirrors this truth. In the fifteenth century, Leonardo da Vinci sketched flying machines inspired by the dreams that haunted his nights. Though his wings never rose from the earth in his lifetime, his visions awakened a future where humanity would truly soar. What began as dream and imagination became the sky itself — conquered not by magic, but by the relentless focus of the human mind. In this, da Vinci and Geller are kin: both saw in dreams not idle fancy, but blueprints for possibility. Their lesson is the same — that everything achieved begins first as a vision in the mind, shaped and sustained by concentration.

Geller’s quote also carries an unspoken challenge: that we, too, might learn to direct our inner worlds. For most people, dreams are wild and fleeting, a storm of thought without anchor. But he reminds us that even within sleep, there can be discipline of focus, and that this discipline — the ability to guide one’s own mind — is the seed of mastery in all things. To learn to control one’s dreams is to learn to control one’s life, for both are made of the same material: thought, intention, and attention. The ancient sages said, “As within, so without.” The mind that learns to fly in sleep will, in time, find ways to fly in waking.

And so, my children, the lesson is this: your mind is not a cage, but a sky. Whether you dream or wake, it is your focus that gives your visions wings. Do not drift idly through the landscape of your thoughts; guide them. If you wish to achieve something, fix your gaze upon it with the same intensity Geller gives to his dream of flight. The body obeys the will; the world obeys the mind that believes. When next you close your eyes, remember: your dreams are not random — they are reflections of your spirit. To shape them is to shape yourself.

For Uri Geller’s wisdom, beneath its simplicity, carries the timeless truth of all creation: that the dream precedes the deed, and imagination is the workshop of the soul. Those who dare to dream consciously, to fly within before they rise without, are the ones who transform the invisible into the real. So focus your mind upon your highest vision — not only as you sleep, but as you live — and you will find, as he did, that even the limits of the world are no match for the boundless power of a dream well focused.