Thursday, February 10, 2011


I want to fly away. Let me go, let me glide to the world beyond my dreams. Hidden there, beyond my imagination, beyond all remembrance, is a place so beautiful it hurts. 

A world so full of joy and and childhood, it is only found by the purest in heart. Do you not know how to get there? Come, I will tell you, but you must not listen with your ears, but with your soul. Your ears will do you no good in the place we're trying to reach. Nor will your eyes, for you cannot see this world with the eyes, they are far too grown up for such things. No, you must see it with the eyes that belong to your heart. If you can accomplish this, then finding this place will be no feat at all. 

First, you start with a beautiful thought. The kind of thought that is so beautiful, it seems to make you soar just from the thinking of it. 
Next, we must find the perfect place to soar away from. Perhaps it's a swing on a lazy, sunny afternoon.
Maybe it's a clear, cool, star studded evening, when to stare out your window into the twinkling sky is worth more than anything in the world at that moment.
It could be a small room, lit by soft, glowing light, while your pen swiftly runs across a blank page, or maybe your fingers are tapping out a dance with the keys they know so well.
It's highly possible that the moment to fly away is when that perfect book has perfectly cast the vision for the place we're looking for. A forest where it is always winter, but never Christmas, a maiden flight, taken with a boy who never grows up, a dinner eaten with a mole, toad, rat, and badger, or a night spent with a small red headed orphan, any of these and so many more can create the place where it is easy to soar away from.
 Come, take my hand and let's soar together. 
 Can you see it? The first glimmer, the tiniest pin prick of light, the smallest hint of air that is clearly not here. Air filled with things that are almost too wonderful to imagine. Air that is warm, filled with spices like cinnamon and nutmeg,  heady, welcoming spices. Air that is cool and crisp and full of life and laughter and frosted cranberries with a hint of hot chocolate. Only a place like this could have air so enchanted.
Can you see it? We're diving, twirling, weaving, here, there, around, beyond. We're alive. Breath in. Breath out. We are not in our own world any longer. Joy, laughter, hope, they just bubble up and out and spill forth soaking us in all that they are. The light is growing ever brighter and...we're there...

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