Driving in to work this morning, I watched the balloons rise with the sun. I should say, rather, that I enjoyed the thought of them rising. We think of things like these rising, but our eyes tell a different story than our minds. It occurred to me then that if I ever wanted someone else to know what it was like to dance, really dance - and I mean someone who is not a dancer, fundamentally - I would take them up in a balloon. There, surrounded by the cool, clear air, we would watch the landscape spread out beneath us, and, even if our problems were the size of a house, we would watch them recede into the distance until they could be covered by a single hand. There, we would soak up the energy that comes with elevation and, as we descended again, we would know that we were carrying back with us something beautiful, something precious, something that had accepted its smallness and its impermanence as prerequisites for something greater than itself.
No comments:
Post a Comment