It was the word of my life and my death. The dream word that breathed into my nostrils the breath of life and destroyed me too.
Dreams. And life. And death.
I had a dream. Always I had a dream. I cannot tell you what that dream was. I can only tell you that flying was one of its symbols. Even when I was very young that was true. Even as long as I can remember.
When I became older, it became even more true.
So deep a dream, so great a passion, could not be denied.
Finally I did fly.
“Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, when the evil days drew not nigh....” Part of the same old story.
I remembered the dream of the days of the youth of my flying, that burst of glory, and how the world and my shining youth itself shone with the radiance of it.
It was my creator. It created life for me, for man shall not live by bread alone. Man cannot. Only his dreams and his vision sustain him.
But the evil days drew nigh. The glow died down, and the colors of the earth showed up. Ambition, money. Love and cares and worry. Curious how strong the strength of weakness is, in women and their children, when you can see your own deep dreams, unworded, shining in their eyes. I grew older too, and troublous times beset the world.