Silly, we beings for hating the ground – caving to our self-conscious callings & climbing the clouds. What was wrong with the grass and the dirt and the bugs that with seeds provided a living? What’s in the sky but a lack of easy air and a degree of cold that makes breathing hard to do freely.
Has our compass gone haywire? Lost its moral traveling course – a child brings home a baby bird in a shoebox – “Mama save it or crush my heart, I won’t sleep or eat until we do” – A dire love to all living things that as adults we seemingly forget to move for.
What happens to our simple souls when we wish to travel into the sky? Our obsession with the rise, never fearing a fall but bitter when we crumble, unexpected – it’s the risk we take before our leap, the lack of thoughtful possibility – it’s hardly even worth trying at all not having wings in the first place.
How silly, we beings – never wanting where we’re born – always trying to fly like the birds our children yearn to save – we’re all so busy climbing clouds we lose interest in our ground’s wanting of our stay.
Find comfort in knowing, we’re fine where we lay – no need to climb the heights of wonder, when wondrous life is not about rising to another place but feeling at home in our heartland instead – a cumulus bed of sky not made for sleeping, but seeping – back to our soft grass padded bed.
Stop fearing the ground, the depths in its face. Explore what we’ve already been given – learn to run instead. Save our bored feet from our dreaming heads – put purpose back into the life we’re already living.
Queen City Kait