I stand at the summit of a mountain looking down on the clouds. Rather, I was born with the moon dangling below my feet, higher than any bird could reach. What surprises me the most is pitchforks and torches did not make this mountain submit, it was rather, men with strange ideals. They indeed, traversed this mountain with me on their backs and yet my feet never touched the ground once.
Where dangerous beasts or perilous conditions increased, so did their resolve.

I could not understand sacrifice then, well, I may not truly understand it now but to them, life was only meaningful if you believed in something. And if you did, it had to be something you were willing to give your life for. If you did not, you were better off dead, well, because.. dead men don't dream.
And life, is too precious they said, to live like dead men.. A man must dream they said! A man must dream! Ludicrous and haughty things! After which they would chuckle like old timers.

When we finally reached the summit the old man set me down, got on one knee and flicked my forehead. Ouch! And he laughed, this time, his smile was fuller so I could see the gaps in between his teeth. He looked back down and then turned to me.

"This is what it means to dream. To achieve anything less than I have is to remain asleep! You got that boy!"