On Kites

I met a lovely young women lately who got me to thinking about kites. She was cutting my hair, and we were making the small talk that a barber and her client make. She’d probably rather I called her a stylist, I’m sure, but the words get stuck, sometimes. Then again, from our short conversation, I got the impression that she’d be OK with whatever term I used. She was talking to me about simple things, her man, and something whimsical that she had done when she felt the need to get away for a little while.

On a windy day, she had gone to the park to fly a kite.

They weren’t fighting, and she wasn’t grief stricken or lonely or sad. She just knew it was a windy day.

I want that in my life, the chance to stand in the wind and make something fly. I want to be in a world away from pain and sadness and regret. I want to look at a sky like a great blue bowl, with a bright red dancing flame in it, a kite on a string in the wind. I want to feel the wind rush past my ears, to take something simple and make it work, make it live, even. I want to look up, look forward with a sense of wonder and happiness. I crave that, I crave some relief.

Two days ago, in a metaphorical sense, I tried to build a kite. The next day, with help that appeared as a welcome surprise, I actually considered that it might fly.

Then last night, I dreamt of an old addiction, and it was so real, so vivid and frightening I could barely stand it. There were blue skies in that dream too, but no wind, not a breath of fresh air. There was deep syrupy happiness that wasn’t real, just a dream of a past that was, a future that could never happen. Part of me never wanted that dream to end. Another part of me absolutely was clawing at the sheets, straining to get out of that dream and back to the real world, even though there has only been pain in the real world, and the dream was the sweet release of addiction, no matter how false. I woke up stricken and huddled in my heavy blankets and literally, shaking.

But I went and stood on the front porch, and thought about kites. If I am going to build a new kite and make it fly, I’ll need some things. String, I think, I want to make very sure that I don’t lose it. Less practical, I’ll need patience and understanding, for kites are strong in some ways, delicate in others, fragile and brave at the same time. I’ll need help as well, I’ve never done this before.

More than that, I’ll need wind. I know that there isn’t much I can do about that but have faith that it will come.

I think, as I was standing out on the porch this morning, I felt the wind on my face a little.