~ Life in the clouds ~

There’s a legend of a bird that sings more beautifully than any other living being on Earth, only once in its lifetime. As soon as it leaves its nest, it starts looking for a thorn tree and doesn’t rest until it finds it. It crawls under its wild and intertwined branches and, while singing, it stabs its body at the longest and the sharpest thorn. While dying, its pain grows into a beautiful song, putting a nightingale song in shade. The price for that beautiful song is life, because the best things in life can be achieved only at the price of a great pain, at least, according to the legend. We dream of our towers since childhood, but the fulfillment of everything we carry inside us and the actual battles have to be fought there where destiny throws us, at some nameless space without glow and beauty, without witnesses and judges. Life never gives us what it promises; it’s always more or less than that. Everything on its shelves is attractive and rewarding, but the real taste of this motley is felt only when we taste it. Enchanted by its vast spaces, we are constantly rush from one side to the other, and not misgiving that each of our movements and moves leave traces. Often naive and careless, we write stories without an eraser. Without dramatic text, on an open stage with a curtain of clouds, we play badly assigned roles. Without the ability to choose whether we will act in a tragedy or comedy, whether we will laugh or cry, we transform ourselves from a man into a ghost, from a witch in a good fairy, from a prince to a beggar, from a wise man into a fool. Tired of constant transformation and disguise, some actors accept life as much as he is; they do not choose the role or the director. Unlike them, there are those who believe that they can climb to the clouds. They can not resist blue dreams and comfortable white pillows, which persistently call them and raise their visions up to the sky. Life at altitudes looks lightweight like a breeze. Without foundations, built of imagination and dreams, it can not even collapse. Like clouds, it just passes and disappears somewhere in an infinite of illusions. Walking along that thin wire between heaven and earth, at one point, some optimists stop. As they observe the ground, they realize that the heights are not as tempting as they appear to them and that the clouds are not as close as they look. Lost somewhere between the ground and the blue sky, they stand and do not know if they will go up or down, until the crucial moments, those which make them choose, startle them. Some souls stay trapped forever within that invisible boundary and sail through life as straws float down the river; they don’t move, they are carried; they don’t know what they want and even less what they are able to do. The ones with a restless spirit are constantly flying up and down; while they are on the ground they watch the clouds and while they are in clouds they search for runways to land. They always indefatigably go in circles, and they’re never bored. They meet various people in their lifetime: the ones in clouds, the ones on the ground and the trapped ones. There are those that are afraid of flying. They spend their entire life firmly bound to the ground. Out of great fear they never watch the clouds; they don’t even dream of them. They usually understand only the things they themselves have experienced; they can’t imagine something completely new and different. Some people express their strongest desires in just one word. With glow in the eyes, they are talking about the heights and their beauties. Everything in their lives is easy and achievable. The only obstacle that stands in the way to their destination is the decision. We watch them packing suitcases and setting off in a one-way direction, towards the clouds. They are in search of themselves and their dreams somewhere high in the endlessness of the blue sky, being constantly turned towards the stars, without knowing that many of them ceased to exist a long time ago, that everything is only a game of light and time. And all of us, more or less, somewhere deep inside us, want the life in clouds without being aware that our entire happiness lies hidden in the events happening while climbing up towards them. Each of us has experienced a terrible destiny and bitter inner struggles until we’ve realized the beauty of simplicity. The strangest thing of all is that only in the end do we get to know simple things.
Life in the clouds, author Suzana Stojanović, May 27, 2007