The difference is perception and intent.

 

Both involve acceleration and gravity and the potential for incredible amounts of damage and pain and grief and the changing or ending of life.  But, really, sometimes the difference is all in how you look at it.  I have spent a lot of time feeling like I am falling lately, and I am tired of it.  I am sick to death of feeling like I am out of control of the circumstances of my life, and I am done with that.  I am not a creature who holds still for very long; it is poisonous to me.  So, if I am going to accelerate, I might as well fly.

 

Turn your head sideways and the deadly tailspin becomes a graceful dive, gathering speed through force of will and gravity.  There are many things in life that require a good fucking run-up to succeed at; I will not sacrifice the speed I have gained just to have to start over again with an idea of control from the start.  I will take the speed I have gained in freefall and use it to blow through obstacles and mow down opposition, because the difference between flying and falling is in my control.

 

A very smart woman told me recently “Dancing, if you do it right, can be just like running downhill.”  She was right – the difference is all in how you think about it, how much you trust yourself to throw your center of gravity out and chase it down with hips and feet and shoulders and spine.  Risk much, gain much; risk little, fear much, gain nothing.  There is more to be said for the mad cackle of a refusal to fear than most people think.  There is a reason I am so fiercely attracted to people who have the stamina, the fierceness, the utter surety to go laughing, teeth bared, into the face of death – or, even more frightening, into the face of the everyday.

 

I have many fears, most of them completely irrational.  They have penned me in and corralled my movement for far too long, and I will not allow them to do so with impunity anymore.  I need space in which to accelerate, and the fences of fear make flying into falling.  I will fly, and I will not permit anything to stop me.  Thinking in 3D is entirely too much fun to give up.

 

And still, some small part of me says “You know, this is how crazy homeless street preachers start.”  The beauty of flying is this: who gives a fuck?  I would make a brilliant street preacher, and I have been homeless before.  If it means I am flying instead of falling, that’s not too bad a deal.  I’ll take it over fences and well-mowed clover any day.  All hail the dive for speed, and damn the opinions of others.  My brain is boiling over with things to say, and I am sick to my goddamn gills of quiet.