March 25th, 2006

(no subject)

People cannot fly. They cannot think good thoughts until their bodies magically rise from their perfectly made beds at night and carry them by their happiness through their bedroom windows. There are trillions of species in the world, and no way for two of each of them to fit on a boat made by one man and survive forty days and forty nights through a raging Apocalypse, when some of them don’t normally survive the length of twenty-four hours. There is no evidence of an abominable snowman or a Bigfoot or the sea monsters that live in the depths of every backyard lake. Carpets aren’t magical, wishes on 11:11 don’t come true, time travel is impossible, and “celebrating your non-birthday” is just another way of saying “living your everyday life.” We are loaded with practically maniacal visions of castles in the sky among the puffiest of clouds, and it’s only fortunate for our sanity that we allow a good portion of our youth to linger with us throughout our lifetimes. But in the long list of childhood-induced fantasies that have been drizzled like interminable fairy dust on the deepest portions of our minds, there is one of those stories told to us in the comfort of our tiny beds that is true. There is a Neverland.

At an oasis in the far Northeast corner of the United States, there is a place few people know exists to be visited. It’s a place where nobody ever ages a day, regardless of their age when they arrive, their age as a number throughout their stay, or their age when they leave. Age is only a number in this secret space of land; inhabitants simply abide by the rules of their number, but pick their age at heart and find themselves blessed with the characteristics of their desired level of responsibility. As if science is the fantasy, the animation of their minds is the majority of their nature as humans, and it remains impossibly unchanged for all the years in the world. You can stay the exact same age from the day you were born, when time hasn’t even granted you the knowledge to walk, till the day you die of old age. For those people of the world petrified of all the inevitable duties of growth that come with aging from ten to eleven, from twenty to twenty-one, or from thirty-nine to forty, Neverland exists. To most, it’s a place hidden in a deep fraction of the mind that’s only visited at the occasional bout of inspiration from a child’s laughter, excitement, or undying belief of the most unattainable possibilities. But believe it or not, it is reachable in the conscious state that you’re in now, and with nothing more than the recent technological advancement known as a car.

Do you want to go to Neverland? Do you want to see this incredible place where every person at hand has experienced the reverie of timelessness and knows that every person around them is experiencing the same? I can tell you how to get there; it’s rather easy, actually. The first step is to understand that this place exists, not only as a genuine epitome of one of your most powerful childhood dreams, but also as a location your very finger can point to on a map.

Very few people understand that there exists a small state between New York and New Hampshire and above Massachusetts and Connecticut. It’s a place called Vermont, and oftentimes people think it’s a small town within one of its neighbors. It’s small, fairly secluded, and not regularly taken into account on the list of the United States, but it is most certainly there, and furthermore it contains the very places we visit so frequently when we daydream about our own personal paradises. If many people have not even realized that Vermont is a place that embraces other places within it, then they have surely never heard of the small town in the upper West corner of this green mountain state that your road map knows as Burlington, and that those inside of it know as Neverland.