The Kite String

He gazed at the adolescent for a moment, wizened eyes wrinkled with concentration. It was a little while before he had a response to give.

“I understand…” he began slowly, “how you feel restricted in correspondence with your talents. As you’ve made quite clear to us, you know you can fly high with what you’ve been blessed with.”

The young adult nodded in impermanent agreement. At first the thought of having to listen to this man’s, or any of the Guild’s advice (or lectures, as the common opinion went) was aggravating, but this was going differently than he expected.

“In a way… you’re analogous… to a kite.” He waited for the half-confused expression he expected, but instead got a thoughtful stare; almost asking him to continue. “You soar high on the wind we give you, and yet you feel like we’re holding you down.” The response was the same, accompanied by a subtle nod. He continued.

“A kite aches to be let higher, to tear through the clouds in attempt to reach the sky, but can go no further than the string binding it to the ground. The entire flight exists as a conflict of tensions; the wind lifts it to the heavens, and yet the string ties it to the earth.”

The youth’s eyes closed slightly, taking this in, and figured out where this was leading. The elder went on.

“But… This conflict is not for the impediment of the kite, but its benefit. Without the thread to hold the kite in one direction, the kite could never stay upright. If it was let go, the wind would hurl it through the sky. With no guidance, it wouldn’t be long before it crashes to the ground.

“Dear child, you want to fly so much higher… but we cannot release your kite string; we can only let you out a little higher, a little at a time. Do not worry. With your beautiful talent, I’m sure you’ll soar above anyone else.”
He sat back in his chair, signaling in a way that the meeting had ended. The youth stood and bowed lightly, a look of understanding finally spreading. Before turning to leave, however, the elder nodded his head back, a warm smile on his face.

“May the winds of fate fill your sails.”

“Thank you,” was all that was managed to be whispered back. Then the blooming prodigy turned and flew away on the currents of the air, along with the guidance of a kite string.



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