Fly with Me

Let us assume, just for a little while, that we could fly. What might we see? I will share with all of you what I see. I see from my lofty vantage point, a man in coveralls sitting cross-legged on a corner just before an overpass. His face tells a million sad stories but only one happy one, the only one that matters. Today he is alive and today he is well. As I float through the ether I see a silver vehicle that just passed this sitting man by. I float into his car through the air vents and see a young man who his frowning and gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turn from pink to white. Little "C" marks are driven into his palms from the nails on his fingers. I can see from his watering eyes that he is on the verge of some deep emotional surge. I do not know why this is. I only know that in some way I am drawn to him. The pain in his eyes speaks of dreams being won and lost - of battles fought with little or no redemption to make the ache seem worth it. He does not see the cross-legged man nod at him as he passes by. This man in the vehicle sees only the road and an intended destination long in the distance. But I also see that he sees more. He sees some sort of secret play unfolding behind his eyes. This is what causes the tears to flow like so much rain.
His right fist lets go of the wheel long enough to wipe the liquid rainbows from his eyes and face. Sounds full of guttural rage and pain escape through the lump in the driving mans throat. He pounds on the steering wheel over and over, strangling screams that threaten to break the thin veil of control he thinks he possesses. If we had sense, you and I, we would leave this pitiable tableau for earlier, happier sights, but this mans pain demands that we bear witness because we sense that something more, something we cannot stop, is on its way.

Stories play themselves out regardless of a character's needs or wishes, and this driving man is no different. He adjusts his rear view to attend to eyes which burn from weariness and salty tears. We are amazed to see that this man sees very little. His own story has blinded him. In his need to attend the ground-swell of emotion welling up inside him, he does not see that the sitting man has disappeared in the corner of his mirror as he rounds a left hand turn, or that his own eyes have changed from hazel to bright green, a

transformation that occurs only when he cries, but has never been marked by him. We see it though. We see it very well and want so much to ease this mans hurt that we are temporarily lost in his stormy, bright green eyes. We feel a connection that pulls us into the storm, and we do not resist. Not one bit. We collect our non corporeal form and aim ourselves for this mans eyes. We are unsure why we need to do this; we only know that we must do this. With a force that feels more like compulsion than willingness, we enter the driving mans eyes and are immediately assaulted by bright colors never seen in any rainbow. The colors are wonderful in their luminosity, yet somehow they hurt the soul in ways we do not yet understand. We fly so long and deep that we fear the colors, which have kept pace with us, will drive us mad. But just as we reach the point of breaking, the colors give way to a soft white light, and we are here in this mans soul. We learn many things all at once, and the flood of knowledge threatens our brittle hold here, making us fear this mans soul, but unshakable in our resolve to explore it. Yes, we learn many things, and in short order, but our journey truly begins with his name. His name is Eric.

We are seldom cut off from much in the world around us. Music, books, television and the internet give us windows and doors to all things imaginable. All these things can help connect one soul to another in a very real but temporary way, and the connection is never fully complete. We are completely alone within ourselves and separate from any and all individuals, therefore, a full connection is impossible, right?

Well, that's what we used to think before we could fly- Before we entered this mans ---No,--- Eric's soul. We have learned his name and now we know his story. Why when first we met him, we saw his suffering. As we float on the turbulent currents of his emotions, we see the images that played themselves out behind his eyes. The connection we felt at first deepens as we bear witness. We begin to see that what Eric is reliving over and over in his mind is no different than our own experiences. We see that his day has brought both good and ill to his weary soul. We see that he has been offered a promotion that will, in time, make him more money while simultaneously alienating him from co-workers who once respected him. They feel he is unworthy because they have been there for years and he, only one. They all feel spite and aim it at him daily. We see that Eric does not care about their ill regard but is unable to shake the loneliness this causes. We see that loneliness is a recurring state for him. Most of what causes this is the position he himself wanted, the rest is the position others have placed him in. Mother estranged, father dead, and friends moved on. What else to be done but move on as well.