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Posts Tagged ‘freedom’

This


Sit with the freedom in your heart.
Feel it expanding into your palms—
in this moment whole galaxies
seem to fit inside your fingertips. How?
When did you become this vast?
Was this spaciousness always here?
Could you have felt this way yesterday
if only you had gotten out of your own way?
Sit with the freedom in your heart—
more beautiful than any story—
feel it surge through you
until your body forgets any limits
and knows itself as infinite.
Freedom will do what freedom does—
invite you to touch the source of the universe,
replace, for this moment, your fear with awe.
 

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Midwinter, the snow on the roof is melting.
Not just a trickle, but a steady pour.
Inside, I feel it, too, a thawing,
a surprising liquescence
as stories about myself
I thought were true
become less solid, less icy,
more current, more flow.
I didn’t even know I was frozen.
I didn’t know I’d created walls
until this unexpected inner spring
arrived out of season
and offered me a glimpse of freedom.
How vast a day is without those stories.
Was it always possible, this openness?
Perhaps we cannot know it
without first experiencing constriction.
Outside, it is melting,
though I know soon the cold will come again.
Inside me, it is melting,
a whole world of ice turning to rivulet.
I fall in love with the sound of melting.
Drip. Drip. Drip.

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When I was sure I couldn’t be happy,
not in that moment, anyway, that was when,
at the edge of my vision, I saw the dark wing
and looked up in time to see a bald eagle
with its white head and white tail
as it soared toward me,
low enough I could see the bright yellow
of its beak, and I swear I, too, took flight
in that moment as my eyes lifted and my heart
wheeled and my senses stretched out—
and I couldn’t stay clenched. I couldn’t.
Not that some part of me didn’t try.
It felt too good to be angry, betrayed.
There are ways the world brings us
back into its arms, saves us when we
pretend we are small, invites us back
into greatness through wonder.
Oh the miracle of wing, the marvel
of bird as it weaves through air,
the thrill of the heart as it remembers
what it is to be free.

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Revelation




After skate skiing on groomed track for months,
following only the preset path, today
I wake early enough to ski on the hardened crust
of spring morning snow. Suddenly,
the whole valley is a playground. And
it’s freedom. Freedom to move in any
direction. Freedom to loop or climb or follow
the river. Freedom that seeps into breath, into smile,
into my understanding of what it means to be alive.
And the whole time I skate and pole
and propel myself over snow
I hear an inner refrain from Romans:
And death shall have no dominion.
Not a still small voice, but a resonant boom.
And I, so alive in this sweet slip of time,
know that though my son has died
and my father has died, here I am,
carrying their love, and alive. Alive!
Alive through the winter.
Alive though I grieve. Alive. Alive as I skate
through willows and aspen and wide open white.
Lungs burning, legs striding, heart beating
hard in my chest. I know myself as breath
and return to the wholeness that never left.
Skating across the frozen world, the sparkling crust,
I live into this life that so wants to be lived,
this life that asks everything, everything of us.

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            for Jennifer and Jennifer


And once again I am twenty-four
and I walk out the door
of our master’s exam and meet
my classmates down by the lake
and the day is hot and we drink cold beer
until we think jumping off the end
of the pier is a great idea, so
we kick off our shoes and run fully dressed
to the edge and launch and splash
and swim until we arrive at a party barge
full of men who pull us dripping
and life-giddy into their midst
and we do shots of something
that blissfully burns before laughing we
return to the open lake and side stroke back
to the shore where nothing’s the same
as it was before, though it still looks the same—
metal chairs still orange, our hair still brown,
the humid sky hazy, loud cheers all around—
but our lives will soon hurl us
in different directions—
to lovers and children and unanswerable
questions where the real tests cannot
be studied for with friends, and life’s master’s
degree doesn’t end till life ends, but oh,
for those few moments on the terrace,
soaking and shivering and whooping in glee,
my god, we were free, we were free, we were free.

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a freedom bouquet—

scarlet gilia, blue larkspur,

and small white daisies—

may these flowers of the field

grow wild in your heart tonight

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Freedom

 

To walk alone

on the dirt road.

Whatever the weather,

to be grateful for it.

To step and step

and step again—

not toward an end,

but for the joy

of stepping.

Squirrel tail.

Creek scent.

Swish of last year’s leaves.

Nowhere to be

but here.

And the next here.

And next.To know

the self as traveler.

To know the self

as road.

To know each step

as freedom when

there’s nowhere

to go.

 

 

 

 

 

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from a dream inspired by Sharon

 

 

And I tried. I tried.

Except steep hills. Except

stop signs. Except fear.

 

Then one day,

the brake simply

didn’t work anymore.

 

I thought perhaps

I’d forgotten which pedal

was the brake.

 

I tried flooring the pedal,

anyway, though I knew

it wouldn’t work.

 

At first, I hated it. Was terrified,

really. Then—right through

the intersection,

 

right down the steepest hill—

there it was, I was in it,

the flow, the flow.

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One Release

 

 

you the red kite

I thrill to fly—

and me

cutting the line,

learning I, too, can fly

 

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In the movie,

that’s not being made,

the one I star in,

my character, who looks

exactly like me,

is mowing the lawn,

exactly like me,

only when I go

to put the lawnmower

away by the barn,

she just keeps walking,

pushing that red Toro

down the side of the highway,

oblivious to the drivers

who stare and honk.

And there’s no orchestra

swelling, just a single

bassoon with a dark,

warm reedy timbre.

There she goes,

in her flip flops

and sun hat,

obviously not ready

for what’s about to happen

and not caring a whit,

leaving in her wake

a trail of freshly cut weeds,

and the scent of spring grass,

her figure getting

smaller and smaller

on the horizon.

 

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