August 21, 2019
A wide grin stretched across a small child’s face as he looked down and saw the rooftops of his neighborhood. It was the middle of the night and silent, with the exception of a single dog that had spotted him and began to bark.
It was neither hot nor cold, but it was dark. Through the darkness everything was crystal clear. The tops of the trees and all of their leaves stood out like starlight in the night, and every detail of every house was visible right down to the siding on the walls and the shingles on the roof.
He sensed something, or someone, was with him and he looked to his right. There, glowing dimly, was another form, an angel, perhaps. Their hand touched and they smiled at one another.
After a short while, the small boy, maybe six or seven-years-old, stretched and leaned to change his course. And with effortless ease he was off to glide in the night sky across the small town in which he lived.
He skimmed closely to the top of the trees, looking down at the stores in the center of town. Then on to more houses, more trees and more sights, all exactly where he remembered they were when he walked with his parents through the neighborhoods.
Turning again, he glided over the community park that stretched along the shore of a small lake. And sitting slightly off to the side of that was a swimming pool where he and his brothers and sister spent many of their summer days.
Each block brought new sights, and the trees...The trees were the most amazing of them all. So many, so enormous, so impressively beautiful in the dark of the night.
The child eventually flew back toward home, his arms stretched like airplane wings, although occasionally he tucked his hands behind his head to prove he didn’t really need them to fly.
There was not a single car driving on the streets below, indicating that whatever time this was it was late. Well past the hour when anyone would be out to go anywhere.
Slowly he passed over the shingled rooftops of his neighbor’s homes. Inside sleeping, probably, were his friends. Normally, during the summer, they would all be out together playing. But not on this night, and not at this hour. They were all supposed to be in bed. And that is exactly were this small boy landed. Somehow managing to pass through the enclosure of the walls he called home, he settled into bed and fell fast asleep.
In the morning he awoke, remembering every detail of his nighttime adventure. Was it real? Or did he simply dream it? The images were so clear, so exactly precise that he thought he must have flown with that angel.
He remembered that dream as he grew older, like it had just happened. But the lessons of growing up convinced him it was only a dream, and eventually dreams that felt so free and comforting stopped almost completely. It started to become difficult to take off, and, eventually, getting off the ground ended in frustration and he gave up all together.
Flying in dreams in not unusual, almost everyone does it at some point. But for some reason we seem to lose that ability as we get older, or at least the ability to remember it.
Is it age related, or is it something else?
A small boy looks out the window of the car and asks, “Why is there a boy running beside the car?”
It is likely that he simply saw his own reflection in the window.
Children are more willing to see things as they really are, to accept what they see without trying to, or needing to explain it. That’s why they can play with one another without judgment, without caring about the color of someone’s skin, what their religion is, or how skinny or chubby they are.
The smallest children are free of stereotypes, and stigmas. They are free to dream, and free to fly.
All, or most, of those things - The hate, the judgment, the needing to feel superior, the sense that they are better than someone else for some self-proclaimed reason - We teach them that. They are not born with it.
We need to learn to let them fly...