Ambitious to fly, a friend and I leave my old childhood school. Spread wide my scrawny arms and leap. My sleeves ragged, a trailing fringe of... cloth? Old feathers? No true wings. Just tatters. But is it matter matters? I flutter, eggbeater, all raveled unwings. And rise! At first I'm sure fierce flap is the key. A vital storm. But as I churn, I slowly learn Lift's not in the feather. In the mind! Still, I hold back. I've left a friend behind who longs for flight too. Guilt weighs me a while. Until I face: he'll try and rise too, or he WON'T. Better to be his goal-- prove we can achieve--than lie, lie low, to stand by him, aground, so he won't feel upset or envy. Puer Eternus of me, to fly? Shucking all grounded responsibility? Hell, if that's maturity... ground farewell!

A NOTE IN THE MORNING

Today I read Iron John by Robert Bly, who has iron-firm notions of what constitutes a man, and is particularly critical of what he sees as modern evasion of the traditional male responsibilities, which he dubs (following Jung I think) the Puer Aeternus or Eternus ("eternal child" in Latin)--instead of the existing pop term "Peter Pan syndrome".

I fit all his criteria. But then I live in San Francisco. All of us in San Francisco (even the straights) fit his criteria. Pretty much gotta be a farmer with a shotgun and a dog to satisfy ol' Bly. And the dream picked it up. Really, when you get down to it, Bly's notion of grounding is just a slick, poetic form of femme-bashing. Artsy-fartsy city sissies. Not real men.

Why the hell should I wait around for the Heartland to get off the ground? Why should you? Don't wait for others. Don't wait for wings. You can fly without.

27 YEARS LATER

I recently learned that I have a rare mutation (Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome) making my body fragile and brain hyperactive. I'm autistic, but a savant--and by using that brain and working hard, I could (just barely) pass--if not flourish. My hard work probably delayed my diagnosis decades.

I wasn't avoiding adulthood--indeed, as Peter Pans go, I wasted lots of time staring through the window at normality, trying to learn how you did it; I tried hard to join you, in your human world. It never worked. It never could. Dealt a fey genetic hand!

I can't be human. But I can soar.

World Dream Bank homepage - Art gallery - New stuff - Introductory sampler, best dreams, best art - On dreamwork - Books
Indexes: Subject - Author - Date - Names - Places - Art media/styles
Titles: A - B - C - D - E - F - G - H - IJ - KL - M - NO - PQ - R - Sa-Sk - Sl-Sz - T - UV - WXYZ
Email: wdreamb@yahoo.com - Catalog of art, books, CDs - Behind the Curtain: FAQs, bio, site map - Kindred sites