frequent flyer...

In dreams I could fly.
I always dreamt that I could.
Did you?  Do you?
Is that unique to me?  I doubt it.

My daughter asked me today what I would do if I could only do one thing, just by myself -
and without so much as a single thought, I said, "I'd fly".

Looking at photographs of my kids learning to surf this summer,
as they actually surfed without learning, as children apparently can do, unless they are told they can't...
Arms spread, legs firmly planted, concentration marring their typically soft faces,
How quickly they stood, set off, free from earth...
Coasting on nothing of substance
Soaring above the ground --
They flew.

This summer,  away at the lake I love
I suspended myself between earth and sky.
Akimbo, on the surface of water in the very center of the lake, I floated
Earth way below
Only sky above
It felt like flying
And I was happy and free, utterly free and happy

Music played in my mental stereo and things that weighed heavy on my mind evaporated.
The lake cooled me to my core and the sky gave me warmth that felt like love.  
Time stood still, but my body levitated.


I was onto something, long ago, when I first admitted that I wanted to fly...

alterations...

To me it appeared to be perfectly fine.  I saw no flaw, felt no bumps, was not swallowed by any potholes, yet the road just outside my gate was apparently in dire need of repair.

It's currently all torn apart; loaded with work trucks, men in hard hats, tractors that blare out "beep beep beep" as they back up again and again.   Orange cones unclearly/clearly mark which lanes are safe to travel, yet I keep screwing up as I attempt to come and go.  Went so far as to run over one of those cones and dragged it right into my driveway, lodged beneath my jeep.

Make no mistake, the road is under construction, though it looked good to me, I guess it had problems.

If I seem alright, it's just a facade.

My macadam may be intact, but beneath the surface, there are pitfalls and leaking pipes, hazardous stones and old tree roots applying pressure from within.

It's dangerous to travel too close to the home of me.

I don't want to feel this way.

I want to be as smooth as freshly spread cement.

I want to feel as together as I appear.

I want to be finished.  My trusty road led me here.  I'm where I meant to go and so I'm done... 

And I thought I was because I signed a paper or two or three thousand and they indicated to me that the end had arrived.

Ready to move forward, no really I am, but it's not so simple as want, is it?

As E.E. Cummings so eloquently puts it, "love is more thicker then forget".

Ah silly me, haven't I learned yet that an end only signifies the beginning of something else?

And, haven't I learned that beginning something else sometimes means the tearing down of what exists?

So rip it up, pull at it, demo me and let me rebuild, shore up, reassemble what was and turn it into something new, something more, something which can endure all the new somethings, wonderful or not, that are about to cross my path.

Consider me under construction.

and I'd like to think that the ---- Grand Re-Opening will be Coming Soon...