The eternal yearning for impossible flight
gnaws at the hearts of dreamers.
Lost in the depths of longing, they fix their eyes on a spot in the sky,
tie balloons to arms,
and try to fill themselves up with belief.
At times they edge their way to the end of a diving board
as if walking in darkness,
timidly feeling their way till toes curl over the edge.
At playgrounds swinging,
hands grip chains in fear and excitement,
reaching heights with thoughts of
They focus their entire being on
and closing their eyes at a final moment wonder
am I now flying
Eyes open, nothing happens.
They find themselves lying on the diving board
or still on the swing,
staring into space.
faraway from their thoughts
begin to reach them; others want a turn.
Sadness veils the truth,
they meditate on lost flights with a quiet suffering.
In front of fans or at edges of cliffs,
wind through hair, arms outstretched,
they attempt to simulate the feeling of flight as a daily ritual.
Flying dreams recorded become religious accounts
and from these scriptures they construct objects
to aid their worship.
Yet, in reality they are happy in their yearning.
Photography: Wanda Gillespie
What keeps them alive is the desire for something impossible.
Without this passionate longing
they have nothing.