A Dreamer's Lament 

    Although I am like you in every other regard, one unmaskable difference causes me to dwell in a world of shadows. Cut off from my brethren -- those who, by God's grace, have souls no more everlasting than mine -- I search for understanding, if not justice. I, my life, what I can achieve, and what I cannot are inextricably tied to this damnable difference. This difference alone would cause me no regret were it not for the perceptions of others who see in me something less than themselves. They observe with a wide spectrum of emotions shading their eyes. Pity, shame, fear, and loathing are but a few of the filters through which I am seen. Yet the harshest, most contemptible lens, is that of indifference.

    I am treated as if I should be able to freely indulge in all of the things that this wonderful world has to offer, yet all the while I encounter rejection. Like the unwanted fly that dares to encroach on the family barbecue, I end up struggling to free myself from the flypaper that has ensnared me once again. Passersby glance momentarily at my unenviable predicament, only to dismiss me as an undesirable creature caught-up in an unfortunate, albeit befitting circumstance.

    "Not my problem," synopsis's the looks on their faces, as they turn from me and continue with their lives -- unaffected by what they have seen, seemingly unaware of how easily things could have turned out very differently: me in their shoes, they in mine.

    Such is my caste in life, although I doubt that this is the way it was meant to be.

    Nonplused by a "me against the world" mentality that I've etched out for myself, I oftentimes fade deeper into society's netherworld and dream a dream of a very different place.

    The harmony and brotherhood of those in my dream transcends the minutia of our daily existence. In it I see people for what they are, not what I think they are, which is how they, in turn, see me. When I'm there, my reach is limitless, and I can be myself, and that is all I've ever desired to be. In my dream, I rarely grow weary because strength is a derivative of freedom, but I did once lay my head down to rest. Sleeping there, in my dream, I had a nightmare from which I awoke screaming. I looked around me and saw that all of the joy had returned, and realized that the dream within the dream was one of my real life -- nightmarishly depicted for me in every detail. This realization stung me so that I awoke from the original dream -- sweating profusely, unable to control my trembling hands.

    While sitting upon my bed alone, utterly confused, and depressed there came, quite unexpectedly, a glittering moment of clarity. I realized that my life was not the nightmare I had seen. The nightmare was merely the manifestation of a low point in my life, brought about by the insensitivity of others. I had allowed them to shape my vision of myself. Fortified with this new knowledge, I embarked on the living of the rest of my life, content to know that I mattered, forgiving of those who had not yet awoken.

    I edged my wheelchair forward, and I haven't looked back since.