I used to dream that I could fly. When does that stop? I know I'm not the only one. Others have told me they used to dream this. When do we lose our faith in that dream? Is it one day in our teens when we ask someone, when we tell them of that dream and they simply laugh at us in our naivete? Have we said, "Wouldn't that be cool, to just run and jump and take off into the sky like that?"
I wish I could feel the freedom and terror of that dream now, the way it felt to lift off from the ground and soar ever upwards; feel the terror of blundering the navigation through the power lines and careen towards a less than graceful landing with a little smoke and sizzle.
When does the word "impossible" enter our vocabulary with such permanence and spirit-crushing power? Why do we believe it? Why do I believe it now, when I can so easily recall the perfect truth of the dream, the sensation of flying?
With enough fatigue from the grind of work-a-day life, I can close my eyes and rise above the weight, the weight of gravity and the weight of the word I was given to carry at such an early point in life: impossible.
Put it down; it was never your word to carry. Fly.
-Gillian Cornwall, August 2011