Sky Cities

It was during high school that I found myself looking up more. This was particularly the case when I was leaving at 6:45 in the morning with my father and my mind felt like it wasn’t even on yet.  The drive made frequently let me imagine all the world above. Here is what I saw.

The reaching tendrils of light would always struggle to do the climb over the mountains in the distance. The sun pulled itself up using the giant floating white hand holds.  You can tell that it had to warm up because it would start off with fresh red and pinks before settling on yellow for the day.  Climbing slowly over the horizon, every day it had to do this, and every morning was a struggle.

The morning light woke up the clouds too, floating lifeless during the night.  When the sun illuminated the inner crevices, it was as if it powered on.  Whole cloud civilizations would awaken to resume the business it had before.

In some cloud, I could see the procession of the newly crowned monarch climb the brightened steps to become a representative to the gods above. The whole cloud embossed in gold in an uproar of celebrations, exploding as the lavish party carried on. There was a sense of joyousness and hope as the cloud grew larger and out of control as the festival went on.  The cloud would grow taller and move quickly across the sky to spread the great news of their empire.

In other clouds, I could see debris.  The clouds had the mighty heroes of old clashing. On the backs of mystical creatures, their swords would collide and scatter.  Warriors spread about fighting and dying in the cloud as it painted with both white and red lights.  Pieces of cloud coming apart as chaos ensued.  The battlefield would stretch for miles, and with each clash, another page to the story written. The conflict unknown but no hopes of ending this clash until one or both becomes nothing.

Small clouds sometimes would paint small portraits of snapshots in time.  Things like a man sitting in a comfy chair during the middle of the day while not wanting to go outside. Or a rabbit finding delicious grass to eat as it keeps its eyes out for predators.  Small scenes from the life that projected themselves into the skies above.

My favorite type of clouds looked as if they painted the sky.  Beautiful landscapes and scenes of nature. Fantastic rolling hill-scapes covered with grass and beautiful forests untouched by man. Seas and waves crashing on open shores, beating against the soft sand. Waterfalls and mountains were breaking free of their usual form to grow into even more spectacular forms. Speaking of peace which is unattainable within a city.  It’s as if using emotion as the medium to create.

These giant floating worlds, all unique, dwarf me in scale bringing the whole world into perspective. I remember going to school and imagine all the great things that are happening among the clouds. The sun would fight against the clouds, some were steadfast and kept their ground, but others faded away never to be seen again.  That’s why I like looking at the sky; I know I will always find something new.

The Good Son

Before I begin, I want to clarify; I am not perfect nor do I claim to be. My history is fraught with lots of mistakes from which I try to learn.  I try my best to be the person I can to be and follow the best path.  This post is about the trouble with the high road that I try to take.

The prodigal son is a parable I know well, not for the traditional reason such as my Catholic upbringing. I have a different connection with the story.  When I was growing up, my sister in all of her gloriousness started to refer to me as the prodigal son.  To her, I could do no wrong in the eyes of my parents.  I avoided their punishment and seemingly was always treated better by them.  Of course, this was untrue, just as I don’t pick a favorite parent, my parents didn’t pick favorite children.  This didn’t deter her, making me feel like I was separate from the rest of my siblings like I didn’t belong with the rest of them like my struggle was somehow void and lesser in the face of everything.  Now I can not speak to how it was, all I can say is how I feel, and I saw it as equal treatment.  The story evolved for me when I grew older.  First, my dad started referring to the story as the forgiving father rather than the prodigal son because that was the take away from the parable and I think he was hinting at something. Second, even though in colloquial language the prodigal son refers to the child who can do no wrong, what prodigal means is wasteful or spends money unwisely. A description that fits me even less than I less than the previous meaning.  Even through it all, I tried to live up to being that shining spectacle of this good son.

When I had gotten into high school and went through the customary process of receiving the Rite of Confirmation. Right before we are to receive it,  we are told to reflect on which of the seven gifts of the holy spirit. One of the gifts was wisdom, being that I was already pretty good with knowledge, and had known that King Solomon had asked God for wisdom before he became king, I thought it would be a good idea to choose wisdom. From then I wanted to be one of those old sages on a hill that everyone came to for advice.

What does this have to do with anything? What’s the point in me writing this?

Well, truth be told, it’s because it helped send me down a strange path in life, this is not about faith or religion, it’s about morality.

I have always been one to follow my conscience, or try to.  Be it the fun path or not, the voice in my head directing me towards what I should do rather than what I feel like doing has been loud and clear. I always wanted to live up to being noble, polite, and a good person.  A man of virtue so to speak.  Let me tell you; it is frustrating. When something comes up, and I know it’s probably ill-advised but sounds fun, I am compelled to say no.  I know how I should approach a situation and how to act around people. How to keep out of trouble, and how to perform correctly.  It keeps me out of bad situations, but the other problem is that it keeps me out of life.

When people tell stories, they talk about how something went awry. It usually beings with something out of the ordinary, and a lot of the time not well thought out plan by at least one person.  Knowing and taking the path where I have listened to others and about their mistakes and missteps and how they solved the problem has given me a wealth of knowledge but a lack of experiences.  That voice in my head that keeps me from trouble also makes me away from living.  It’s like when one kid burns and knowing not to touch, it makes me want to know what it feels like to get burned even though I am aware it’s a bad thing.  I know how to live correctly, but the path that I end up walking on is lonely.  I know to take the high road, but sometimes I just want to take the same route as everyone.

Though this right way doesn’t guarantee success, what it does give me is the ability to look at myself in the mirror for the choices I have made.  The problem is, I just want to be young and make silly decisions.  My conscience bears down on me, though, making sure that I stay tried and true.  I feel like sometimes it would be easier to be freed of this constant badgering, allowed to make these decisions based on feelings at the time.  The problem with knowing where to go makes taking the wrong path becomes a purposeful decision to hinder me, which is illogical. It’s like a slow insanity because when I know something is wrong, it immediately becomes undoable.

This doesn’t seem like a huge issue and even as I am writing this I feel a bit silly, but it’s frustrating as hell.  Trying to be this virtuous person all the time is tiring, and all I want to do is take a break from it.  Take a break from caring, from doing the right thing. Go off the deep end.  One of the things I had imagined when I was younger was escaping into the night without anyone’s notice to walk the empty streets. The thing that kept me from doing it other than the fact I would have been in trouble if caught that it would be cold and lonely so not as much fun my romanticizing of it would be. Now I could be very wrong, and I am missing this hot new trend of midnight walking, but it’s those kinds of thoughts that drive me crazy. I just want to do these things that people my age could get away with because we are young instead of never doing it and missing my chance.

I have been trying to free myself of these binds I have kept myself, allowing me to live more. Exploring these decisions and allowing myself to move out of the proverbial good choices. I am trying to live differently and to make decisions that I would both enjoy and be proud of. Gain these experience that I crave.  Live the life that I want; I will always act according to my conscience but I can least widen what is consider as a good result.  I will keep moving forward and learning more from others but I can at least try to live some of these things for myself, because sometimes kids have to get burned by the stove to really understand the reason to not touch it.