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aviaI forgot, just how much I needed to read about winged people. I forgot how much it means to me, stories about people getting their wings, stories about people fighting so hard to keep their wings from being taken away. No, I didn't forget, in my mind, not like amnesia, but I forgot in my heart. I forgot what it feels like.
There is something, about that same story told in different ways... someone has wings, but people try to keep them from flying because it's "not polite", but they fly anyway... that always touches me, even if it's the same story heard a hundred times, a thousand. I could keep reading it. Because it's real.
It's a metaphor, a story about people who move different and act different and feel different and how, the world thinks it's "not polite" but we need it, we need it, and it's okay to embrace it. And it's a real story too, not metaphor, a story about how we need to fly and people tell us "that's stupid" and "people can't fly" and "you are not a bird" and "everyone is just human, live with it, deal with it" and your heart is crying no, no, and your body is reaching for the sky in every atom and every beat of blood and your soul feels like it is in chains, and every part of you is shattered glass because
You. Need. The. Sky.
Or the ocean, or the forest, or the desert, or the inside of your warm room. It can be anywhere. For me, it's the sky, liquid world of light, the only time I can be in a world so open and so much without shadows and not feel like I am falling apart, or maybe I do but it's okay, it's okay when it's the sky because the sky will hold me, if I fall apart the sky will keep me, I will fall apart but I will never fall.
And this knowledge, that the sky will keep me, hold me, love me, is always burning inside me, mixed with the knowledge that I need it need it need it, and so there is love and so there is pain and they both cut me and they both stretch me past my ability to hold it and my boundaries are breaking, I am just like a puff of air, I am being stretches so thin that I can't exist as a body any more and I
I fly.
I fly.
There is something, about that same story told in different ways... someone has wings, but people try to keep them from flying because it's "not polite", but they fly anyway... that always touches me, even if it's the same story heard a hundred times, a thousand. I could keep reading it. Because it's real.
It's a metaphor, a story about people who move different and act different and feel different and how, the world thinks it's "not polite" but we need it, we need it, and it's okay to embrace it. And it's a real story too, not metaphor, a story about how we need to fly and people tell us "that's stupid" and "people can't fly" and "you are not a bird" and "everyone is just human, live with it, deal with it" and your heart is crying no, no, and your body is reaching for the sky in every atom and every beat of blood and your soul feels like it is in chains, and every part of you is shattered glass because
You. Need. The. Sky.
Or the ocean, or the forest, or the desert, or the inside of your warm room. It can be anywhere. For me, it's the sky, liquid world of light, the only time I can be in a world so open and so much without shadows and not feel like I am falling apart, or maybe I do but it's okay, it's okay when it's the sky because the sky will hold me, if I fall apart the sky will keep me, I will fall apart but I will never fall.
And this knowledge, that the sky will keep me, hold me, love me, is always burning inside me, mixed with the knowledge that I need it need it need it, and so there is love and so there is pain and they both cut me and they both stretch me past my ability to hold it and my boundaries are breaking, I am just like a puff of air, I am being stretches so thin that I can't exist as a body any more and I
I fly.
I fly.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-29 05:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-29 08:13 am (UTC)