To correct the child and not crush the spirit is a good thing. But to inspire that child to fly, to soar, to become… that is a nobility personified. That is David Bowie.
A tiny artist trembling before the weight of the world. Perhaps they had seen too much. All that
had been perceived as precious had been cast down. Why?
Why should they try? As if a
punishment by the Olympian gods, the weight of the world crushed the flower
that dared to grow in the sidewalks crack.
Not once, not twice, but continually.
Young Prometheus forever punished for bringing fire to man. Shackled to the forge, his sweat would never
earn redemption. Frustrated to pay penance
for a crime never committed he longed to lay his hammer down.
Then they heard it: the
voice of an encourager. One who
felt. One who understood. One who dared to defy the gods. He dared to exalt in the victory of the small. Stepping forward, forever stepping forward: the victory of being
alive. The sweetness that could be found
in the bitter. The pride that could be
found in just one moment. Do not focus on
the fact that you were crushed, but revel in the fact that you grew. For a moment you stood high. Though you may not have known it, the world
basked in your glory: if only for a moment. And if the world didn't know, it was still your show.
A moment may be all you have, but meet it unabashed.
In the shadow of a passing shooting star, the boy looked up and smiled.
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