Sunday, 4 September 2011

A dream of flight.

I fall asleep

the way a child does.

the way a child does on a summer afternoon beneath a shady tree

on grass warmed by the sun

sleeping like a child nestled into his mother

without fear of what dreams may come

I fall asleep without care that I may never wake

the sleep of contentment, of innocence.

As I sleep I dream of Icarus

rising high into a golden sky

I dream that I am Icarus,

we are one, the same

his thoughts my thoughts, my body his body

Icarus and I, one being, one becoming

Soaring so high above the ocean

set aflame by a dying sun

Below us myriad starlings sweep back and forth,

as if they have one mind, one purpose

like us, like Icarus and I

each different, unique; and yet, the same

Rising on warm air currents, higher and higher we go

the sky itself seems to hold us aloft.

Hair, glowing, radiant, blew about our face

eyes wide with wonder, with joy, with quintessence

Arching our spine; swooping through the black mass

each bird moving, creating space through which we pass

reading our mind, knowing our actions

with our passing they regroup

Below two figures stand on the surf’s edge

we dive, our wings swept back as we cut through sky.

Hearing the sound of rushing air I look up - the winged figure of Icarus sweeps past us. Time slows for a moment and I see that as I look into his face he looks into mine, and the face we see is the same face, one face, my face. I call to you and hear you gasp as this smiling, angelic birdman effortlessly glides by. Your face glows like my own at this vision of a man who took to the heavens, who became more than he was born; who became like a god. He rises back up and is soon lost to us against the fiery orange sky.

     By the time I turn back to you, your attention has moved; you are on your knees pulling damp sand together into a small mound. I lower myself down next to you, watching for a moment as you take the sand from the featureless desert that it was and begin to construct something new, something unique. Watching your little hands work so delicately, I swallow hard. My child, my beautiful child. My son. Joining you in your work I take your instructions as we build. Your smiling face looks up at me, so full of joy, so full of life.

The prologue from Quintessence.

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