Flight

I stand upon the precipice, leaning at the edge. There is a strong updraft gusting; it tries to keep me from leaning too far. But for the familiar fear residing in my mind, my whole being desires to separate from the ground under my feet and soar into the wild, boundless sky. It is an unknown, frightening blue sea, but no more dangerous than the dusty dirt beneath my feet in which I have placed far too many footprints.

I know I cannot simply jump. My mind won't allow it, nor will the updraft. I am held fast in place, flirting with the edge, unable to free myself. Unable to fly. I have done all that I feel I can - I have stepped to the edge and peered out into the sky. My heart is filled with a desire for so many possibilities that do not exist upon land, but are rumored to lie somewhere within the wild blue stretching out endlessly before me. To get there, however, will take more power than I possess on my own. Strength to overcome my own hesitation and the guarding, gusting wind here at the edge.

I do not need merely a holy nudge, but a holy shove. A confident push that will separate me. Perhaps I will only plummet to the rocks far, far below, but even in such a crash there is more wonder and excitement than when I fall here on land. Falling here is but a pathetic scrape of the knee. Falling out there is a glorious destruction. Everything out there is better, is truer, is wild and unpredictable.

Deep down, beyond my present fear, I believe a real life is one lived in flight. I need this wildness. I need the unknown.

But first, I need a holy shove.