As mesmerizing as the flames of a bonfire or the frothy gurgle
of a brook can be the flight of a kite.
I crane my neck to
look up in awe at the soaring ship. In my thoughts, I am astride on those
fragile paper wings; the breeze in my hair, lashing the strands in a rhythm to
match the kite’s fluttering tail. My heart lifts, I feel my body levitate and
there is an expansion of being, a broadening, an enlarging of the mind almost,
as though ready to hit greater heights.
That bobbing blob of colour could well be my spirit,
tethered to the ground with a chord of quivering connections. Quite like the
paper bird, flying audacious sorties into unknown and unexplored realms, every
minute, and every hour, fighting its own vulnerability and fears. Flapping,
getting beaten back, and even losing height in the varying winds but enduring
and lifting up on friendly gusts to soar in the end.
My spirit roams the skies today with that lone paper, as I
muse, standing on the ground that a day will come when that lethal glue and
ground glass line will snap and I am going to float away, into the unknown
yonder, all alone, by myself, like that kite I gaze at, leaving behind
everything that grounded me. I will be gone but the sky will not stay desolate
for long. It will come alive with brighter, stronger, braver kites, their lines
moving with life and energy.
Oh well, that split second of eternity will come when it
will come. For now, I am one with those colour patches, shimmering in the teasing
rays, symbols of man’s imagination and courage. Like the triangular frame in
the blues, I am here on the ground, amongst friends and strangers, maintaining
my path, steering out of harm’s way, gaining in height slowly and surely. The
sharper my life skill the greater my ascents, as I loosen, pull back and pace
out the leverage life gives me.
There are lessons up there, in the colorful sky. That speck
rising high says fortune favours the bold. It proves you have got to use all
you have. And that no one rises alone; several others gain simply by reference
and the scramble to keep up. The spirit that lasts is the one that dances with
the winds and the gales, changing step to match every gust, each breeze. The
plucky champion that owns the steepest ascent has stayed focused on its own
journey, unmindful of the pomp and aggression around. It has worked on out
flying every other kite on its two engines of: desire and tenacity.
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