The beaten tracks belong to the poor, tired, huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of teeming shores.1 Life’s thrills belong to those who trek on the Vesuvius. To those whose ships dare the uncharted seas.2
Toe the line if you want to be the winner in athletics. But there’s little fun running between lines, in circles, over again along the same track. The dandelions flutter longing to be touched, beyond the tracks.
The longing of dandelions will acquire wings and fly in search of new horizons.
If only we could be dandelions. With longings that grow wings. We’d leave the beaten tracks and circular races. We’d discover new horizons. New ecstasies.
Personal truths are like wings. They carry us above narrow considerations of nationalism and jingoism. Above political games and religious terrors. Far away from the jargon of gurus who enslave.
Pick your chance. And grow your wings. Let no shadow fall between the wing and the circle, between the flight and the ratrace.3
1. Inscription below the Statue of Liberty.
2. Friedrich Nietzsche
3. T S Eliot: The Hollow Men
PS. Written for Indispire Edition 155: #TakingChances