freedom is not the expensive dress you wear as you tread the city streets;
it is riding at full gallop over the fields at solstice, full moon shining on your naked back.
it is not the pentagram emblazoned on your forehead in a citadel of christians;
it is sneaking your piece of bread into a prisoner's hand as you make your rounds.
freedom is not smiling haughtily at every silly and vapid school girl who worships you from their desk;
it is your head thrown back, hair flying in the wind,his name dripping down your breasts in your sweat.
Freedom is the moment in between as you bite back spewing that hurtful word at your ex, say no to a party when you have to work, reach out to stroke your justifiably angry lovers throat.
Freedom is the memory of hard days gone by, faded to sepia and gratefully scrapbooked in a quiet corner of your mind.
...its leaving silent space for every thought that might come, to tread its way into the world.
Freedom is standing at each pivotal transition under humanity's tree sighing as autumn leaves cascade over your shoulders and then mourning her bare trunk in winter. It's being love-struck at spring's explosion of life and finally climbing insanely high at the height of summer.
Freedom is melting into the world and transcending it with your breath and with your body. Freedom is not coy. It is a beltane orgy of life.
3 comments:
Freedom is risk, choice, engagement, danger. Not freedom from, freedom to. Have you read Annie Dillard's essay, Living like Weasels? The weasel lives in necessity, she says. We humans live in choice, hating necessity, dying at the last ignobly in its talons. Freedom is the weasel's choice to sink his teeth into the eagle's throat, to embrace necessity, to do what must in truth be done. Eish. Sounds scary.
mmm may we all live on Anarres
i havent read it, it sounds raw and scary. But alive!!
yes.. freedom to...
Anarres?
Post a Comment