It was a comfortable warm summer Muskoka day. The kind of day where the sun lit every corner of the room, clouds are in the sky but somehow only amplify the sunshine. There was noise all around as people moved from one place to another. They were shopping, chatting, walking and just commuting one place to another.
Graeme and Gerald sat on a bench in the park. They had just picked up some ice cream from the snack bar. Gerald's was chocolate with all kinds of chunky chocolate chips mixed through it. Graeme preferred a sweet orange sherbet. As the sun shawn down on them they sat in silence trying to eat as much of their treats before it dripped down their arms and all over their shirts. At this moment Graeme asked Gerald a question. "Gerry," he said, "If I had wings like yours I'd fly all over the place. Why do you just stand around all the time? What is so exciting about watching these people?"
Gerald took one bite of his chocolate ice cream and paused to let it melt on his tongue. "Is that what's holding you back?" Graeme was puzzled, "I can't." "Close your eyes." Gerald interrupted.
Graeme closed his eyes.
Gerald took a deep breath and began to lead Graeme towards imagination.
"Take a deep breath. Imagine yourself alone on top of a small hill. Flying is not about getting from one place to another. Flying is finding yourself and letting the Earth move beneath you. This way you don't end up where you want to be, but where you need to be."
Gerald continued. "Picture yourself being lifted from the ground, The effort here is not yours to make, let the ground work and fall away from you. Feel the breeze under you pushing you to the sky. Look down, do you see the ground beginning to move? Where is it taking you?"
In his mind Graeme saw and felt all of this happening. He experienced flying, but was not travelling far. "I am flying, but I'm just floating around town." "How do you feel about that?" asked Gerald. Feeling content with the experience, Graeme responded with a smile "I feel pretty good about it."
Gerald took a bite of the cone whose most the ice cream had melted away, and asked "Does that answer your question?"
Graeme did not answer. His eyes were closed, his ice cream poured out from the bottom of the cone and onto the bench.