Freedom, no more

What is this thing you call freedom, I ask.

Freedom to choose, freedom to flee, freedom to say no, freedom to be.

Freedom to roam, freedom to hail, freedom to risk, freedom to fail.

Freedom to cower, freedom to hide, freedom to neglect, and freedom to chide.

I want not of this thing you call freedom, I say.

It enslaves me, desolates me, reduces me to a void.

It cracks me, it scrapes me, and peels off my skin.

It’s a free fall into nothing, nowhere, and in between.

It’s a vacuous hole  with no end in sight.

…………………………………………………………………………..

Freedom is an illusion, mythical fantasy of sorts.

For life is bound by death like the the day is bound by night.

Light is covered by the nighttime sky like happiness  is thwarted by disappointment and frustration.

My love is torn by selfishness for it is you I seek in times of need.

How can I be free at all when I am bound by any given circumstance.

………………………………………………………………………….

Bind me, enslave me, make me Your shadow.

My spirit gleams when it is but a reflection of Your Grace.

Pleasure and glory

We may search for the rush of glory when we try to achieve the extraordinary, but life’s purest pleasures live in the simple and ordinary.



Tuesday prayer

Please grant me…

Happiness in the absence of pursuit.

A fullness without acquisition.

Meaning without analysis.

The future will never find me

The past is a story I tell myself.  Illustrated with a set of photos in an album. Sound bytes and sensations, strung together to weave a fabric for my imagination.

These stories, de-construct and re-construct, with each new experience.

Some dots join visibly, while others are silent, still.

Invisible.

As the image forms, the story changes, evolves.

Who I am also changes with the stories of my past.

The future will never find me.