tin sky

Long before I was born my ancestors fell through the cracks in the
floor and there they lived. With time, their surroundings came to
define them; light was meant to fall in lines; too much would be too
bad. And into this world I was born. It was the world that grew me but
it wasn't' a world that grew people standing straight. However, every
creature knows the way it should grow; even grass has the sense to
follow the sun. It was harder for me, I had set off on too many paths.
I would take a step on this then run round and take a step on that. But
whenever I stopped the paths would grow hazy and instead of going along
I would think of going up. I too could hear the call to follow the
sun.

When I first said I wanted to climb up I was told it wasn't possible;
the ceiling was too high and besides; who did I think I was? But I
wanted to see the sky and so I ignored them and climbed up through the
floor.

The new place I found was called "This-is-it". I said "where am I" and
every one said "This-is-it". Great I thought, but it turned out that it
wasn't my "This-is-it"; there was no sky, although when I said this to
the people they got upset and said what would a person who came from
"That's-not-it" know? This quite excited me because no one had ever
understood that I came from "That's-not-it" before. I talked to them
and was amazed that they understood what life was like in
"That's-not-it" it saddened me though that none of my own people
understood. Because these people seemed so wise I stayed with them. But
there was no sky and I had to move on.

So I climbed up further and found another, higher level. When they told
me it was called "This-is-it" I laughed. "This isn't it" I said, but
they just said what would a person who came from 'That's-not-it'
know?
"You sound just like the people I just left" I said.

I kept climbing until the whole process became tedious. Everyone
claimed to either live under the sky, and pointed up to a dusty
ceiling, or said there was no sky. Every level understood something;
rang a bell in me. But I came to distrust them because although they
were wise they all said wisdom stopped with them, when I knew it was a
river.

There was no point in stopping so I went on till I pushed up the soil
and found a new place - a different place. The people had something
good. They were happy and together. This was were I set up my home. I
became one of them and learned to see the way they saw. Slowly I grew
straight and as I looked up I realised that I was under a vast blue
dome. "It's the sky" they said. I think that was the moment that I
decided to live there forever. And I would have done if things had
turned out differently. But I was a climbing man so even here under the
blue of the sky I would climb the hills and the mountains. I would
stand at the top and shout at the sky. One day, in a fit of exuberance,
I took up a rock and threw it high into the air. It flew up and up, and
then with a great metallic clang it hit the sky and span off down the
mountain side. It left a dent. I stared at it? my mind whirled around
in confusion. That's not the sky I thought, but instead of being
saddened I felt uplifted. So many things started falling into place.
Things I hadn't understood, or things I had twisted to make fit, no
longer had to fit because 'This wasn't it.' There was more. I dashed
down the mountain to tell the others the good news but they were
furious. "You've dented our sky" they shouted. "No, you don't
understand - that's not the sky" I answered.
That made them even angrier

"Look, if that's not the sky this doesn't have to be 'this-is-it'" I
said "there's more".
At this the people started shrieking and wailing and throwing things at
me "This-is-it, This-is-it" they shouted. And despite the fact that
they had a large dent in their sky I couldn't make them see
otherwise.
After that no-one wanted much to do with me and my efforts to get
people to see just made things worse. I discovered that mine wasn't the
only dent in the sky, if you looked carefully there were many others
but it seemed no one knew who had made these or worse - they wouldn't
even acknowledge being able to see them. "This-is-it" they would say-
end of conversation

I couldn't find a way up, I couldn't go back down and I couldn't stay
where I was. I drifted away and lived alone in the desert. Every
thought and action was caught between not going back and not going
forward. I wove backwards and forwards, up and down. Tireless because I
couldn't stop. For everyone of their claims of 'This-is-it' my heart
rebounded, double on double; never, on never, on never. I will not
pretend my life away.

Something's are so high, it takes you years to simply realise you can
climb them, and that's how it was with me. I couldn't hear what I was
being told because I had no part in me to hold the words. So when I did
finally understand it was both a revelation and a deja vu. It was very
new and yet perhaps I had always known it. I would have to climb
through the sky. Cut a jagged hole in that sacred tin mantel and leave
all this.

I have learned that wisdom is a river. I had thought I was struggling
to cut a path to its banks where I would then bob merrily down it,
effortlessly, into the dissolution of the sea. Instead I find I have
always been climbing up it, and I have discovered I am happier like
this. Wisdom is a river but I had never realised that the wise go
against the tide.