Quotes about Flight

A black Hole in your dimensional space is another reality system whose co-ordiantes interface with those of the Earth. It is a locus of being for a collective identity, just as Earth is a locus of being for a collective Human identity. The collective or star referred to as Black Hole is neither dead nor gone. Its focus of consciousness is just temporarily redirected into other dimensional co-ordinates that preclude its appearance in your space/time continuum. The field your scientists interpret to be unoccupiable and inescapable is actually holding the star's place in space, the way you might put a "Reserved" sign on your airplane seat if you wanted to get off for a walk between legs of a flight. Because the collective identity of the star has taken a walk somewhere your consciousness cannot currently reach, instead of percieving its manifestation, you percieve it as a gap in your space/time continuum. Your scientists think of it as being sealed off behind its own event horizon. In fact it is Human perception that is sealed off behind their current consciousness horizon.

When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.

Groping inside my duffel, I found my Swiss army knife and opened one of the blades. I stopped and turned brandishing it, an insane glint in my eye like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. My nearest persecutor, a young man covered in Mayan tattoos, was approaching fast. The knife made him hesitate—but that was all.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds-and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,
Where never the lark, nor even eagle flew—
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high, untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Ideas have wings, No one can stop their flight.