The Pedestal

There is a pedestal.  It reaches high into the sky, up near where the clouds hang down.  A white, soft surfaced pillar with a wide top and firm base.  It was shaped from a shaky beginning.  No bricks.  No mortar.  No clay.  Instead of all these, in their place, was words.  Insults.  From the very start.  All of the people pushing, verbally, for me to fail, for me to follow the trail they had worn down.  The trail that leads past the pillar.
         I stayed by the base of that pillar, and watched it form in front of me.  They all laid new pieces, one by one, until the pillar was just as high as my chest.  And I climbed on.  I climbed onto the pillar.
         They walked down the path.  One by one, they walked by and only few stopped to marvel at the pillar.  Most stopped to lay another layer onto the pillar.
         I stayed on top of that pillar, day and night, for years to come.  I watched them as they walked by, each adding a layer until it was out of their reach.  The soles of my shoes were level with their heads.  The base of the pedestal was finished.
         I was there for a long time, just like that.  Right in the middle.  The insulters now below me, but I was far from praise.  While I looked down on many, many still looked down on me.  I started to shape the pillar.  I gave it a fine gloss, and ornate patterns.  I added layers, I added time.  Attention of the pillar spread, from low to high, far and wide.  And there I stood, on top, working, as they all walked by in amazement.  I kept working, hard work.  I added layer after layer, shining and shaping as I went.  Here and there a piece would fall off, and they would ridicule, but I would fill its place and move on.
         The pillar grew, until I was level with them, the praisers, the gazers, and the powerful.  I looked into their eyes, and they looked into mine, and for the first time, I saw the fear.  Somebody was on their level now, and they didn't approve.  I kept a strong jaw, a fierce look in my eye.  They spat at me, and I spat back.  They poked and prodded trying to get me to fall, but I remained balanced as I worked, layer by layer.
         At last, I had surpassed the middle of the pillar.  The base was strong in place, the ridiculers keeping it in shape.  The middle was being polished by those that could not accept defeat.  Now, the top was being formed, without my knowledge.  My progress slowed on the pillar.  A piece here, a layer there.  It grew, slowly.  Then, I awoke one day to find the pillar much higher than before.  It was rising as if by magic.  I had no work, no effort, going in or out of the project, but I was rising.  The pillar grew to outstanding heights, and all the world could see.
         I am there.  I am on that pedestal.
         The believers.  The ones who see potential.  The ones who have faith in me.  They were hard at work building the top of the pillar.  I rested frequently.  I watched them work.  It was none of my doing.  They placed the platform on top, large and square, and those at the bottom and those in the middle were defeated.  I looked over the edge of the pillar to see them, fire in their eyes.  They were hard at work beating the pillar with poles and rods, setting fire to it.  Now, though, I was immortal.  My pillar was complete, and I could rest.
         The trail still runs by the base of the pillar.  I watch them frequently pass by, some friendly, most jealous and enraged.  I can see the power of those in the middle fading, day by day, and I can see those on my side smiling.
         They see the pillar for all its beauty.  They know, they helped build it.  All of them helped build it.  And now I am here.  Even with the top.  To go any further means to jump, hoping wings to sprout.  One day, I'll be there.  The pillar I rode to the clouds, but now I ride the wind into the stars.
         For now, I watch from the pedestal.