Why do angels fly? Because they carry no burdens. Flying is not only the main mode of locomotion for most of the word's bird species, but it is also the symbol of hope, of total awareness a spiritual remind of the all-seeing eye. Most of us have had dreams of flying; of soaring to breathtaking height and looking down upon the earth. It means that all chains and obligations to the material world have been lifted away. It is absolute freedom.
He is a golden boy. Hair of gold and skin of bronze, he runs freely through the garden. His body sculpted from metal that was painted from the sun's last rays. His blue eyes glitter like diamonds as he makes his way down the earth beaten trail as fast as he feet can carry him. He dreams of adventures, of being a knight, a warrior, a prince off on a quest to save his princess. He dreams of saving the entire kingdom from a dragon, or of battling the pirates of the far east.
"Don't run, I ran once and I fell, skinned my knew, chipped a tooth. Nothing is worth running for." his father would say.
"I promise I won't run" the boy would reply.
But he is still a boy. He runs, he leaps, he glides through their little prison. A boy with no purpose but to be free from all that holds him down to the earth. Their farm the only thing he can call a home. His father once told him that they lived beyond the walls, in a place where the land met the ocean. His father had worked for the king, making useful machines to aid the kingdom but then something had gone wrong. His father always looked sad when he came to that part of his story. His father always looked sad, now. The boy runs from his father and his sadness, jumps, and bounds and skips around the farm with joy. He sees no danger in running, what could hurt him here? The grass is soft and green, the earth is cool and moist. He has no reason to fear falling yet.
Men have been trying to recreate the miracle of flight for thousands of centuries. The Kite was one of the first man made aircrafts. Invented in China by Mozi and Lu Ban in the 5th century, kites were used to measure distances, test the wind and send messages. Later designs took after a variety of bugs, birds and other animals both real and mythical. Man carrying kites are believed to have been used in ancient China, both for military and civil purposes. There have been some reports of it being used as a punishment. At one time there was a Japanese law that forbade the use of man carrying kites, so the craft was forgotten. Stories of kites were first brought to Europe by Marco Polo towards the end of the 13th century, and kites were brought back by sailors from Japan and Malaysia in the 16th and 17th centuries. Although they were initially regarded as mere curiosities, by the 18th and 19th centuries kites were being used as vehicles for scientific research.
He is such a wishful boy. And oh how he wishes he was an angel, to fly free away from this prison. He watches the birds with envy, how they dart in and out of the walls with ease. They are never prisoners, they soar high above his head and he wonders how the sun feels on their wings as they glide through the clear air. They have been here for as long as he can remember. His father told him it was because the King didn't like his ideas. His father is a very smart man, if theres a way to get out of this maze, his is sure his father will find it. The boy watches the sun set and he's willing to martyr himself to be free, to soar if only for a few moments before death. He should have know it then.
"Don't fall. Once, when I was a boy I was playing up a tree. I slipped on a branch and fell down, down down into the river. If my brother hadn't saved me, I would have drowned." his father would say.
"I promise I won't fall." he would reply.
But he is just a boy, and he knows no boundaries. He wants to be an angel, a bird, to soar in the sky. He leaps from the fence with his arms spread wide and for a moment he imagines himself soaring away from everything that was his but then the ground rushes upon him and he sinks slowly into the green grass. If only he could fly away from this place. He could go get an army, bring it back and seize the maze. His father then would be free.
The earliest recorded attempt of man made was of Armen Firman in 852 AD, who made of jump off a tower in Cordoba, Spain with his body covered in vulture feathers. In 1811, Albrecht Berblinger consisted an ornithopter and jumped off the Danube at Ulm. These first few experiments often involved men strapping birdlike wings to their bodies and jumping off of towers. Most attempts ended in serious injury or death. The wright brothers must have tried and failed a hundred attempts to get their first model of the airplane off the ground. It is embedded in the us as humans to ascend, rather than descend.
He is a proud boy. He watches as his father pulls them out; forged from iron, dull, grey and ugly, his father holds them out to him with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Attached to his back with cords of muscle, the wings glint and glimmer in the sun. They feel heavy on his back, and he wonders of they His father is a master of crafting, and finally he is ready to plan their escape. He remembers the tales his father would tell, about the times before the maze when they were free. His father had worked for the King, but then the King had become angry with him and sentenced him to life in this maze. They have been in this place for too long now, prisoners trapped in a maze of wild things. He hears the monster sometimes at night, making it's way slowly towards their farm and it's bellows strike fear into his heart. His father tried and failed many times to find his way out of this dark place but each time It drove him back cowering with fear. His father was a smart man, but he was not brave like a warrior. The boy often imagined himself as the hero, fighting the monster off, and finally freeing himself and his father from the maze. But, the monster, with it's head shaped like a bull and he body of a man was merciless, it would not allow them to leave. So he father retreated to the forge, working long hours into the night, planning their escape.
"Don't touch," his father would say.
"I promise I won't." he would reply.
But he is still a boy, and he is curious. Sometimes he would walk to the very edge of their farm and touch the heavy rock walls that encased them. He would look up and stare at the bright sky and wonder what laid beyond these walls were old, crumbling stone and cement. With the right amount of force, the boy was sure that they could but knocked right over. But he was never allowed to touch them. Sometimes he would watch his father work in the forge, creating, inventing, planning their escape from this retched maze. He would play with the feathers that fell from the work table, dip his fingers in the warm wax when he father wasn't looking. Finally, after weeks of work, now it was finally time to see what was beyond the walls that bound them.
Leonardo Da Vinci was one of the few scientists to investigate the mysteries of flights, although his work was often based on the anatomy of birds, bugs and other flying animals. As an inventor, he was often criticized for having new ideas, and his sketches of flying machines were considered irrational. In 1687, Newton published the third law of motion, "An object offers as much resistance to the air as the air does to the object." and everything changed. The art of flight was no longer deemed as impossible. Da Vinci though was criticized for his works, and none of his sketches ever made it into the public eye. He tried and he tried, but he never won that particular of knowledge.
He is a flying boy. He feels like a god, with the sky of blue overhead and the world's ocean below. They are soaring now, just like the birds he used to watch from the ground on their farm. At first he sticks close to his father, gliding, dipping through the air but, as he finds his wings he grows stronger and soon he is laughing with joy as he glides through the air. The maze is but a small patch in the ground now as they soar towards their freedom. He never imagined that freedom would feel this good, nothing in this world would ever hold him down to the earth ever again.
"Don't fly close to the sun," his father said.
"I promise I won't." he would reply.
But he is still a boy, and the sun sees his pride as he glides up and up and up. Closer and closer he soars, feeling as mighty as Zeus himself. So he is struck down, his wings made so lovingly melt and metal drips upon his back. Icarus falls with grasping hands. He watches his father become smaller and smaller and he falls down, down, down towards the sea. His heart pounds with fear as he watches his mighty wings melt away from him. The ocean is a relief for the flame that burns him, and the darkness is a soothing relief from the sun's harsh white life. He sinks down, down, down into the abyss and the ground claims him as a prisoner once again.
He will always be just a boy.
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Thank you for reading. As always comments are welcome as long as they are considerate and respectful.