When you speak of it, it almost sounds beautiful.
The thing you are describing sounds like it was something out of a book of poetry. As if it was a utopian magical kingdom with no pain, no clash, no fear.
When you describe it, I almost want to go there.
Almost want to be there. Almost want to be the person that makes that place possible, that creates this – what was the name you gave it?
Freedom.
Yes, freedom. Such a double edged sword. If freedom is somewhere else then where are we now? And how did we get here?
How simply one word can sow dissatisfaction,
a sense of lack.
A sense of insecurity.
A sense of instability.
A sense of not enough.
How it can destroy.
Can demean.
Can surpress.
As if somehow there is a way to serve a king’s banquet without the servant’s labour.
But maybe the most frustrating thing about this is I believed you. Allowing somehow my search for more to blind me to the questions. Besides, who wouldn’t want to drink from the elixir of youth, attached to a lifetime of pursuing the endless whims of the heart, rather than disciplining them? Attached to a life of telling and retelling, explaining and unraveling, opening and turning, twisting and contorting. Of dancing – forward, backward, forward, backward husago husago.
And those who can’t pay the piper, learn to love the music
It’s easy to destroy that which you refuse to understand.
Perhaps then power is the freedom not to understand. And freedom is the power to understand – and leverage is using this power.
You refuse to understand and call it freedom.
And yet somehow, when you speak of it, it almost sounds beautiful. For a second I feel myself once more drawn in. Asking you to tell me again, before I continue to speak. What do you know of this freedom that you seek? Or are you, too, blinded like me? Chasing shadows and convinced that they will save you from the light?
I sit back and listen once more as you tell me how desperately, so desperately, you can’t wait to be free.