I knew that war. That war between what you should become, and what you could become.
Freedom. To most, it is an idea. An abstract thought that pertains to control. That’s not freedom. That’s independence. Freedom is riding wild over untamed land with no notion any moment exists beyond the one you are living.
But the plains are not for home building. Not enough resources. No shelter. The plains are for vagabonds, wanderers, and cowboys. Their home is a saddle. The sky is their roof. The ground is their bed. What’s lacked in material comfort is regained in the knowledge that they are always home. To them, the journey is the destination.
“Should they find gold at the end of the rainbow, they would leave it there and seek another; choosing freedom over the burden of the pot. I haven’t thought once of Oregon. No dreams of the ocean or snow-covered mountains. I only dream of the journey. That is all. No gold for me. Just the rainbow.”
Death. Every person on this planet will endure this pain, until they are the cause of it for another. Someday I’ll die and shatter hearts, too. But that is not today. Today I am living. And I am a shadow.
There is a moment where your dreams and your memories merge together and form a perfect world. That is heaven. And each heaven is unique. It is the world of you. The land is filled with all you hold dear. And the sky is your imagination.
(c) 1883
