No matter what dull drama stains our lives, no matter how dark a Mordor we seem to be painfully headed for, there always comes a light – be it a single fleeting ray through torn menacing clouds or a global, iridescent dome coating the world beyond even our dreams.
The trick, as with all perception-induced realities, is to not be fooled by either tone. Gloomy days and stormy nights will always brighten up and in turn darkness is bound to pay us yet another visit, some day. It’s written in the cards and clearly visible in the giant palm of our universe. I checked.
What’s left for wisdom to embrace is an obstacle course of great comic value, an endless oscillation between ups and downs and rights and wrongs. How we swing with or against it will define the albedo of our life and ultimately, our happiness.
It would seem now, after a year and a half of absence and waiting and doubt and setbacks, that dawn is about to shine in all its glory, a warm breeze finally blowing the fog away and drying rain drops off the easel of a masterful painting in the making.
The wind of change is upon me once again. Here’s my parable for it. My paraglider laid out neatly, I’m watching the signs. Far below, the lake surface changes as ripples run on its face like as many little smiles. Then the warm air rises to the trees and I follow its progress as leaves and small branches come alive. The bubble gathers strength and momentum and soon next to me the windsock begins to stir. It’s here. The thermal is here. Time to inflate. A pull on the lines and the canopy comes overhead, begging to fly. I stop it there, just long enough for a visual check, and then turn back and face the abyss. A few fast steps, weight forward to load the wing and we bite into the thermal.
I force myself to a second or two of patience and avoid sitting down into the harness too early – and too close to the ground – but I turn immediately to stay inside the lift band. The vario sings and I’m finally able to lean back, taking a turn into the brake lines and hugging the slope as I climb in a large S pattern towards a height at which I’ll be able to turn into the thermal and ride it up.
And there, way up there in the sun, Marie is waiting for me. We’ll be flying together. At last.