Flying first came to my life when I was in Grand Avenue Junior High School. I discovered it in gym class in seventh grade, while doing the broad jump. I found that I could prolong the feeling of flight by an act of will. By rising up inside myself, I could soar for longer and longer intervals. The feeling was so exhilirating and fascinating that I tried out for the track team just to help nuture the skill. I cared nothing for running, jumping or competition. Only the apex of the jump interested me, the moment between the rise and fall, the precise moment of freedom. It was at that exact point that I would consciously soar over the field, beyond the trees and rooftops, and extend over the horizon. No one watching ever witnessed the flight, and it was never reflected by the judges measuring stick, but I believed that someday it would be. Truthfully, even then I realized that I had no great talent for track and field events. My talent was for flying.
The timing of this discovery was, of course, no accident. This was the first pubescent autumn. The air was cool, the smells and colors intoxicating, and the girls were ever present in the minds eye. Hormones thundered in confusion through my body deafeningly. It was little wonder that I could fly. The conflicting images and needs that demanded my attention; school, part time job at the deli, family, love, all anchored me to the ground yet fueled the need for flight.
That same autumn, my father had his first of six heart attacks, and I found I could no longer fly. The shock and fear of loss weighed my feet to the ground. Track became the strenuous activity of of merely running and jumping. I quit the team, explaining to the coach that “I had to help out at home after school because of my father’s heart attack.” It was an empty excuse and the coach knew it. But how could I explain that I grieved not only for my father’s pain, but also for my own loss of flight?
Later in life the gift of flight returned, at first in my dreams when I would soar over the streets of unfamiliar cities, travel to the far planets, and glide above country fields. I once became aware midway through a dream, of flying over foreign countrysides toward three far off mountains. While soaring I repeated aloud Mer..Sumer..Kailash..Mer Sumer..Kailash. I later discovered that these were Himalayan peaks known to be power points on the planet and believed to house unseen temples of wisdom. When I woke I could only remember the flying, not the arrival. If I did arrive, I have no idea what might have happened or who I might have seen. I didn’t really care. Destinations were of no interest, only the freedom of flight mattered, freedom to be the point of awareness that I knew myself to be, unencumbered by shape or substance, unfettered by thought. In time I knew that even the sensation of flight imposed limitations, and occured within the confines of space and time. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
You can enjoy a flight of your own with my CD
Flight: Rise Above Your Problems, Dissolve Limitations, Build the Life You Want
Here’s the link
http://thehiddenlanguage.com/pages/flight.php
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