Looking through the window, into the street ahead, noticing
the trees move as the dramatic wind tries to enforce its will onto the world.
Alone, almost banished to this place, I need to become something new, a little
bit more, of a thing designed to withstand this world that we inhabit. I might
just need a hero.
As a child I used to dream of flying, taking those initial
steps backwards in order to create space, before running as fast as I could
until the sky embraced my moving arms. In my dreams, my waking mind, it all
seemed so easy. Life would lift you, kiss you when needed, rising your body to
a place of tranquillity and escapism. I’d fly, over the rooftops, into the sky,
feeling free above everything.
Life, unfortunately, grounds you, holding you there, forcing
that will of subservience onto us all. I can feel the lines, not just across my
face and under my eyes, as the lines are cracks forming within my resolve, I
can feel them within my very soul. I stand stoic, as much as possible, as
probable as it can all be, but to rise above all of this takes that small slice
of energy.
Looking to the sky, asking for a healer of words, an action
that resolves all inner conflict, I realise that the world is the one that is
hurting. We’re hurting. We’re existing within a construct designed to keep us
busy, defined, contained, restrained and controlled until the very day we pass
from this world.
I return to the flying day dream as a smile appears across
my lips. Wouldn’t it be amazing, wouldn’t it be fun? To fly, to soar, to
escape. We’d probably be taxed on flying at that point. A wry grin appears, a
small laugh acknowledging the sudden break and negativity injected into my
thoughts. I didn’t think that way as a child, I didn’t know that the world is
the way it is.
I don’t want to ignore the world, I don’t want to scream
until my lungs ask me to stop, but the more I age the more I realise that we’re
living in a twisted, dark, solemn world. Once you realise this prospect you
can, thankfully, grasp at the beauty that we’re surrounded by. We have so many
things to be thankful for yet, at times, we hardly even know they exist. The
dark thin box, in the corner of our room, makes sure that we’re contained.
I said that I need a hero, a healer, a spark of light to
infuse my mind as my heart has cut itself from my thinking. I need a hero, a
true believer in another system of thinking, living, surviving and being. The
fallacy of such a thought is that, in this world, our world, there’s no such
thing as a hero. There are no super powers, there is no way for me to truly
fly, on my own without technical aid and history knows that heroes, in human
form, are often cut down before they could even try to fly.
Looking through the window, into the cold avenue of my own
life, I notice that the trees are now static, no longer ruled by the
circumstances of the moment. Alone, most certainly realising my situation, I
know that I will become something brand new, a lot better, with light shining
through my mind. I know that, right now, I need to become my own hero.
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