We are stuck down here on the ground but some of us are looking up into the heavens. We are the dreamers, the freaks, the flower children, the creators, the moon dancers. We stare up into the brilliant blue abyss, at the beautiful white clouds and the blinding sun. We dream of the possibilities because we know we have the wings to fly. But just before we can take off we glance down and see the others. Their eyes are cold and judging, observing us. They’d clip our wings as soon as they comprehended our capabilities. We know we’d feel their iron grips pulling us back down before our feet could even leave the ground. We slouch back in defeat, cowering at the sight of them.


The few people who have been brave enough to take off have had their wings fettered. After that, they struggled to get an inch off the ground. The others laughed at them, seeing how ridiculous they looked fighting against the impenetrable. Their wings flapping desperately until they are ripped to shreds by the steel clips and blood streamed down their backs. They drop down into the gutter, their wings rendered useless. They are forever scared to look back up to the sky. The scars and the dried blood on their bodies mark them as a rebels - traitors. They have nowhere to go. They’re lost among the shadows of the gutters.


More of us have joined the fight of the rebel angels with the broken wings but we are still pushed back and pulled down. How could we expect any different? The others can’t understand, they’ve never had any dreams of the sky. Their feet are firmly rooted into the ground where they will stay. They all feverishly water the roots that hold them down for fear that if they don’t, we’ll pull them up to join us. God forbid they might go mad and sprout wings. Instead, they’ll find comfort in each other’s mutually mundane existences.


If we could only escape our clips, our chains and our shackles, we could fly away. We would fly up into the skies and explore the new world and its possibilities. We would watch, as we soared higher and higher, the others become the size of ants. We would explore the Heavens and discover things we never even dared imagine. We would soar through the clouds and bask in the golden sunshine of our wildest dreams. We’d never stop. We’d tear the steel clips from our wings and keep reaching, keep dreaming. After we got to the skies, we’d find a way to get to the sun.


Until our feet leave the ground, we’ll keep fighting. Until the day we can leave our rusty, bloody clips at the nearest psychiatric ward and have the courage to all rise together. Until we have the courage to realize that we are not the crazy ones. We are the rebel angels, the ones with wings, the loony, the dreamers, the fanciful and frivolous. Maybe someday we’ll rise up with the courage to fly. Until then, we’ll just do what we do best; dream.