Once Upon A Time I Could Fly

I'm going to tell you a secret.  I hesitate a little, because I fully expect everyone who reads this to poo poo it.  Your rational mind will tell you it was just a child's fantasy.

And isn't that the problem with our rational minds?  I mean, yes, of course, we need them.  We could not navigate our lives without them.  But they also demand a price for their survival imperatives.  

Before I accepted this, I could fly.

My first memory of this goes way back to when I was 4 or 5 years old.  I would awake in my room as the morning sun was sending its golden light through the cracks in the blinds.  It was important to not open my eyes fully or stir out of bed.  Rather, I needed to let myself first see all the sparkling sunbeams floating around the golden hued air-space through squinting eyes.  And then, if I was very careful, very quiet, very gentle in opening my eyes the rest of the way, I could begin to see little fish emerge.  

Tropical fish.  Lot's of them.  Schools of amber cast colorful tetras, mollies, angel fish.  My mind would then enter a new place.  A place where I could feel my body become weightless.  So focused on the magical fish, I held no space to worry about my body.  And then, as long as I believed it was possible, I would leave my bed and fly--or swim--among the glowing bubbles of the sunbeams and schools of colorful fish.

I never breached my parents bedroom door.  My father often heard snoring on the other side.  I knew that would end my anti-gravity abilities.  I traversed the hallway through the middle of my childhood home and zoomed in wide circles around the living room before returning to my bedroom.  

Some time, some how, somewhere I was told that such things are impossible.  And then they were...yet, I still remember.