Thoughts

Falling...

Each handful of stability seems to slip faster than the last, desperately grabbing for something to hold on to, something at least less transient than myself...Slipping...from world to world, life to life, one day to the next and on toward the dark and void place that lies ahead...into it's clutches have I fallen, clutches that concede nothing but the cold grip by which I am constrained...a prisoner, it seems, to nothing; and thus existing as nothing more than something just passing through...

Just passing through...

And so, with such a paradox that has so firmly planted itself within the core of my mind, I wonder if man can ever be content...at one moment freedom is set as man's greatest ambition, to be died for if not had; to bleed for if only to gain but for a short time...and yet, with his freedom, and perhaps more than just that in some physical sense, will man go to look for his slave driver; to look for newer chains and some newer burden by which he might ensnare himself? Does this amount to the whole existence of a man?

As I move through the open sky with outstretched wings, careless and free, as only one such as I could be, the cool wind (though at times bitter) moves beneath my wings to keep me afloat and seperated from that land that is so foreign to one like me. And yet within the cold air, I can feel the warmth of the sunlight alight upon the arrangment of color and precision that make up my sleak design; this warmth, no doubt a special treat from the heavens above. His rays seem to slowly make their way down into my heart, until my whole body is being softly carressed by the one who has watched this all before, and, though seeminly indifferent to our little world, likewise seems to look down with an old and yet charming smile of understanding...At times I move along under the warmth of his presence, and at times in the cold and void air absent of such blessings. Coming now to this world that lies below me, what is this mysterious place that races past my eyes? People and their culture, a history and identity that is altogether unfamiliar to me. With the passing of time, my flights have become a bit lower; and now my observations, not from places of such great heights. I feel myself being drawn closer and closer, the distances between myself and the objects of my fascination being narrowed more and more. Floating in and out of their world, I find myself no longer simply intrigued by such a place worlds apart from that which I call my own, but have, of late, even found myself more and more longing to be a piece of their puzzle; a part of their world...

Taking flight...

But could I ever be anything more than just this passer-by, floating and drifting with the coming and going breeze? Is there a day, could there be, when contentment to stay could be found in just one tree? And amidst it all, I wonder what is meant in that smile of his; what lies within the wisdom of the one who has watched it all before...

I'm flying, and not as though I must exert such effort so as to flap my wings in desperation or hurry, but moving along; carried, as might rightly be said, from place to place, scene to scene...to what I do not know, and just how; I suppose I'll learn as I go. But amidst it all, I wonder, and must continue to wonder, what is contained in that smile of his, what is contained within the eyes of the one who knows more than simply what is...