Beacon

by MitchellRichards

Like many of us flies, I don’t have much time to tell you this story. It’s the story of your great-great-great, and a few more greats grandfather. His name was Beacon and I was told his story by my father when I was young, and him by his father, and you must tell your children this story or else it will be lost forever.

Beacon was a rare fly in the way he claimed to be self-actualized, meaning he knew who he was and where he came from and his purpose. He had a bigger picture of life and death, bigger than we can ever hope to have. He knew what we, our people, were and why we are here at this place, but it wasn’t something he ever shared with us. You see, Beacon was aware of everything going on around us, not just us flies.

One day, Beacon was searching for food for his family and his curiosity landed him inside of a car. The man who owned the car was a slob, and Beacon often found easy food here in the bags of leftover fast food the man jammed into his backseat. Beacon was making trips back and forth with food for his family, but he didn’t notice the owner of the car get into it. Beacon zipped through the window into the car just as the driver rolled up the window and drove off.

Beacon was separated from his family and friends and had no idea where he was going. Being the smart fly that he was, he had been in this circumstance before and knew that if he just stayed in the car he would return to his home and family eventually. However, after hours of driving Beacon became suspicious. The drive never ended it seemed. There was never the sensation of turning around and heading home, and when the driver stopped to get gas, your ancestor peaked through the window to see an unfamiliar land of lights and other cars and other people.

The driver got back into his car as Beacon remained hopeful that home was the next destination, but it wasn’t. The driver continued to drive in the opposite direction. He drove through the night and just as the sun began to rise, Beacon woke up to the car stopped and parked. It didn’t move for a long time and he had no way of getting out. The car was cold, much colder than the air of his home.

The driver never returned to his car. Beacon was not starved for food because of the garbage in the car, but he had to get out to find out where he was. He longed for his family, but had no sense of direction as to which way they were or how far away. Beacon somehow squeezed through a small crack in the window as the air outside blew him sideways. This stop was much different than the car rides he had been on in the days before, it was unfamiliar.

Beacon flew as high as he could to see if he could see anything familiar. The car was parked on a bridge overlooking a river, but the familiar sights and smells of home were nowhere to been found. He flew back into the car because it was the only shred of familiarity that he had left.

Somehow, my children, we were all born from this. We are far from our home. This place, this place where we eat and sleep, it is not our home. Only Beacon knows the way home, but he is long since gone. So when you can’t sleep at night because your mind is racing, young ones, realize that it is racing because this place you sleep is not the place we are supposed to be. Right here is not home. We are far from home.

Many of you will leave this place and chase your real home and I will never know if you find it, but, my children, you must continue to chase. Find where you belong, for this place is not where you are from and it is not where you are supposed to be.

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