The Paradox of being Grounded and wanting to Fly

I can't quite put these thoughts and feelings into proper words yet, but I'll try. This story reads more like a prosaic poem rather than a narrative, and I think it works better for me. Rough around the edges, but it really does illuminate the thoughts around my head somewhat.

     I remember these roots of mine, planting me firmly on the ground. They nurture me, they grow me, they are my support. They make me who I am, inject life into me, they are what make life beautiful and radiant - almost heart-wrenchingly so. They are a multiplicity of faces, a diverse mesh of characters, idiosyncrasies, fears, insecurities, souls. Just as no two roots are identical, they come in different shapes and sizes. The way the individual roots love me, perceive me, are different, and the way I love each of them are different. But they are all similar in that they keep me standing tall, proud, strong; they keep me sturdy and steadfast, loving me enough to take hold of the dirt and mud to provide me with a strong support.

      And I grow with their love, nourished with these drops of refreshing water they feed me. A little smile, a kind word, a hug, affection underlying a gruff exterior. And soon I grow tall enough to see the sky.

     How glorious the sky is! How majestic in the infinite possibilities that it offers. Fresh possibilities come surging in as soft billowy clouds roll on. I sense the refreshing water contained there, the drops of would-be rain that smelt of liberty, freedom, and whole vistas of potential.

     And I reached for them. Reached for the clouds that are above me, striving to be the tallest tree there is, taking joy not in my height but in my journey of trying. There is a world beyond this patch of land of mine, a world beyond the canopy of leaves that I see overhead. O I try to reach skywards, to attain all this, to drink in the beauty of this world, to fly.

     But these roots. They intend not to hold me back but to hold me down. Keeping me firmly in place, just as they have faithfully and loyally done all this while. And I cannot uproot myself, I cannot fly away, I cannot abandon these ones who have loved me and whom I love so fiercely. But my eyes turn up to the sky, and my heart, my spirit yearns to be among the sky, to soar up and fly.

      I feel my roots work hard to gather water to quench my thirst as the wind dance around my leaves, teasing for me to grow.

     I want to grow. I want to grow deeper... But I want to grow higher. Is it possible to want to grow in opposite directions?

     How now? How shall I reconcile ... myself? These two complete selves of mine?