Random strokes of your consciousness, slowly make out the bird in the clouds as it flies and brings gold off its page of lines and color. It makes you wistful, and a little intoxicated. Heady and beguiling, you are soaring on the wings of the golden bird, to the places you’ve always longed to go, you are going on a stream to fast to see, there’s nothing here left but you and the one you seek. Is it free? Oh is it free?
Now the price of your flying comes, and the bill is long. It comes with tattered dreams and scattered hopes and burnt expectations, and all your longing to be free is just that- an unanswered bunch of well written words. Was any of it real? As you fill up the bill and send off your signature, as you pay for what you’ve done, you feel like the real queens and kings of this place are those who knew the price of freedom, and were willing to pay its cost, its dues, before they soared on the golden bird.
But you have made friends in high places, and the bird comes back, calling, crying for you. Late at night, when the stars are out, and Venus shimmers low in the sky, will you open your window and jump on her outstretched wings? Will you go on adventure and seeking the One you have always wanted?