WingsDo you know that we all have wings rooted in our backs? Really, we do. But we just don’t see them. We’re blind to this as to many other things. Because we choose to be blind. We choose to deny the fantastic side of our lives. What’s it for anyway? It’s not rational, not proven, not real. We don’t see it, we don’t believe it.
And that’s truly sad. Cause these wings are there and they are so beautiful, our only chimerical escape.
All through your day, they go unnoticed until the night falls dark and calm. You can’t avoid them by night. When you heavily lay your head on that pillow and lose all contact with your fake reality, only then will you be able to feel them. How do you think you reach your dream world anyway? They take you there. They take you to the strange realms with weird creatures and unfathomable happenings. Yes, these precious wings that you so boldly reject. But come day, they disappear all over again. In reality they’re there, but with reality your blindness sees the light too. Oh that blindness! And all those wonderful things going unseen! Unfair to them but cruel to us. It’s all kind of a synchronized amnesia. So it can be considered a sickness in a way. We are all sick in a way, but we don’t show it. No. We all try to fit in the mold built for a normal individual, and so we all look the same, act the same. But deep inside we all have an individual sickness. Why don’t we show it? Because we are such cowards. We fear change. We fear the unknown. We dread rejection.
But we don’t all possess the same wings, you know. Some wings are soft, of feather and gold, so warm and light and shiny. Others are soft too, of feather too, but feathers shining with their blackness. And there are wings of hairy skin or gleaming scales with showing bones and pointing claws. And many many others. Not two are similar. Because not two persons are truly similar. Each one of us holds a certain gift, not necessarily a good one, just a unique one that makes us all different in the same way. Another trouble in our daily lives. Because we never learn to accept the other’s differences. Another sad thing. We don’t rejoice in our uniqueness. Another value wasted. We’re proved blind again.
Our wings are different and they carry us to different places. Darkened or lit, heavenly or hellish, demonic or angelic. We meet everything on the way. But some are much too blind and refuse the darker side of things. Those are free in their blindness but chained in their minds.
Now why did I become so special and not so blind? Because the night opened itself to me and it was the sweetest revelation. And since then, every day has become a night. And the night doesn’t hide things as they all think. No, not at all. In the night, treasures have a special radiance and they look more beautiful and pure, more pristine. And every time I close my eyes, I see my wings. Mine are of fur and feather, so silky and gray and silver. I’ve known there existence for such a long time I can ride them now. I can go anywhere I want thanks to them. I just close my eyes, show them the way, and lead them through the fields of my imagination. I love my wings.
When will you start to love yours?