Building Up For Freedom

comments 6
Christ / Poetry

Like a thread of yarn
stretched in a line
flickering fluttering
behind a thrown stone
to which its utmost
limit has been lashed,
we fly.
When the stone
exhausts its given momentum
and burrows into soft soil, motionless,
we come crashing on after,
lazily collapsing
into a coiled, tangly heap,
awaiting the curiosity
of the next passer-by.
Like this
Our loving unfolds in
in accordian-like phases.
We are building resolve
with these practice flights
through the known realms,
so that on the day when
Hafiz catches sight of
these intriguing goings-on,
wanders over,
leans down,
burrows through the woolen maze
to collect the precious stone,
holds it gently in his palm,
and whispers about flight un-tethered,
of a passage through endless ages of Light,
something akin to a bullet shot into a cloud chamber,
on a collision path with the Beloved–
an offer designed to change everything–
a voyage that would ostensibly begin
with Our being loaded
into the darkened chamber
of the void-splitting bazooka
he’s clearly itching to fire–
a real corker, let’s put it that way–
we are prepared to say
without hesitation:

Yes, please.
Let’s blow every last
thought of resistance
clean off.


    • 🙂 I’d like to procure a one way ticket to reality, please… Uh… excuse me? Oh– ummmh… what the hell. Here’s everything I have. Let’s upgrade to first class…



  1. Here is to celebrating the end of thumping …with the amazing conviction that stones do float…great for use as inner ballast as one tests anchoring to the sky. -x.M


    • There’s an adage I read somewhere. I think it had to do with the engineering problems associated with keeping rocket cars on the road. It goes something like this: even a brick will fly if it’s going fast enough. It’s all about reaching escape velocity! Love is such a profound propellant. 🙂



  2. O, To be the dusted off stone in the palm of Hafiz and feel the cool meet warm and smooth meet porous skin – then loaded in the gun’s dark chamber, ka-pow. You make the dream seem real, or the real seem a dream – I’m not sure which.


    • You get the sense we’re living in between the two sometimes, no? Not waiting around exactly. Not forcing anything to happen. Just living through the vertiginous ripening of being. It is spring on all fronts.



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