Reflections of Chains, Ropes, Wings and Things

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Reflections of Chains, Ropes, Wings and Things

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Reflections of Chains, Ropes, Wings and Things
He looked at me from a distant place, yet was within my inner circle. The smile on his timeless face invited me into a communication. Carefully, he suggested an energy image meant to excite my awareness of all-powerful destiny. This simple image held the key to my motivation, which, although no secret to either of us, needed conscious expression and acknowledgment. As is his nature, he took great pleasure in tasting my anticipation as I accepted this gentle nudge to my complacency. My preoccupation with his thought-words allowed him to imperceptibly massage my essence with the implications of this elegantly relevant image:

"A large, soft, perfectly still and flat cloth lies unattached to a hard surface. A hook from above catches a small piece of the accommodating, yet limitedly elastic fabric and starts to gently pull upwards. A small portion of the cloth moves slightly upward, causing the cloth nearest the hook to slightly rise off the hard surface. Due to the elasticity of the material it will take time for a larger portion to elevate, but visualize the potential effect on the total cloth as the hook continues to raise that minute part off the surface!"

The image hit me as it was intended. I remembered.
Energy sent to me has a theme to it. One of the themes is sharp and consistent: betrayal. I do not address it directly as it would be counterproductive. Another is neglect -- that marvelous tool of the passive aggressive. The most significant theme is hunger, and I am impelled to find food.

Chains: Religion, for all its defects, is a good way for individuals to accept the discipline of austerity to intensify their devotion. It is not the optimal way to relate to others for it typically implies that others should accept comparable ideals to be acceptable. Its restrictions are good for directing lives and focusing scattered energies, yet at one point they become chains. Chains are cold, hard, and create a clunk and clatter that keeps one from internal peace. But then again, maybe that's the point of them.

To fly, to run, to swim, to dance with the flow of life in its colored and vibrant forays into the inter-connected matrix of energy that feeds us all, is my cuisine. When I sportingly joined God's Team, I thought I picked the breakfast of champions and chewed it with gusto, but while innocently snacking on these long awaited treats my freedom was exchanged for responsibility. Responsibility, good in many ways and undoubtedly experience expanding, progressively became a well-decorated prison. Religious restriction, in its dense and intricate system of ancient and inflexible roots, clipped my wings, strapped me with weights, and demanded full acceptance of a predigested environment. I thought it would kill me so I let it, and after my demise I took flight on angelic wings leaving behind the limiting chains and those who were likewise shackled. But things were, as they usually are, not what they seemed.

Ropes: Freedom is an illusion. How does one define freedom anyway? One aspect of the newly captured freedom I relished (yes, I am aware of the irony in this phrase) was not being bound to anyone other than those I chose to love, who loved me, and who shared with me. It was good; it was real; it was mutually nourishing and it launched a cornucopia of experience that I shall always cherish. But there were other aspects that mysteriously manifested. There were these rope-like attachments that persisted even when ignored. They were silken, smooth, inter-dimensionally woven ropes that refused to be disengaged, and which harmoniously integrated with my energy --something not experienced since childhood. These ropes invited my acceptance of their existence along with recognition of them as internal attachments unexpectedly free from disturbing demands and seemingly devoid of consequence for non-compliance (Permit me the following: May my parents be forever glorified for nurturing me within such a refined culture). Finer chains? An elegant prison? Somehow not. But then what were they? Why were they there? Is there indeed a destiny to fulfill to attain that elusive mate called freedom? Does freedom have an agenda?

Now there are closer connections, friendlier friends!different, better, nicer, more loving and kind and considerate and happier and freer and softer, and they too hunger for life and love and the joy of flight. Some are little birds, with little wings, sharp eyes, strong sounds, deep energy, and growing faster than I could imagine. And so adorable! Who could leave them behind? So I feel inclined to fly to procure them appropriate nourishment, yet those unavoidable ropes, although superior in energy to the cold chains of my forgettable past, limit my range of flight. I can go where I want, but only for some time. I sigh no greater sigh than when told, "You must return now. You can only come back when you bring someone with you. Destiny rules, obviously, for I helped make it. I (as are you, for I am not being uniquely egoistical here!) am strong and powerful with a will that manifests when it is supposed to. Even I cannot avoid me. Time and tide come and go in rhythm to the beat of the sun and moon, and I am their follower and friend.

Wings: Resistance -- I admit it. I cannot do anything about it. It's just so. No, I do not like being in the center of anything. I don't like the limelight. I work behind the scenes, back-stage, and feeling best when making little ripples in the curtain of the strings that tug at the sub-atomic energetic harmony that periodically erupts in a melody that surprises the instrument. I am hidden; a Scorpio, and no one shall know me. Doubt: Is it really so or is it that no one can or could or even tries? Nothing more important than to be understood. I need to accelerate the pace, shake up the whirlpool, whip around the tornado and send it flying. If there is no depth in the status quo then I will dig to find it. My few friends are those who know me for what I am without judgment; who hang out comfortably with me and feel the inescapable impulse to giggle when I say something impudent, or who burst out laughing when I inevitably go way beyond acceptable babble while spontaneously channeling a pompously articulate enlightened sage with his foot in his mouth! I could be a tasty tidbit for the connoisseur of unexpected counterpoint, you know. Scorpio with Aquarius rising, some Mars in there too (have to ask my much better half about this someday). There must be a reason to it. Have to stay inside and go out. Constantly. Cannot be known yet must be understood. A contradiction? Only if it were not I, for I own it. Inevitably difficult? You are not the only one to find it so.

Back to wings: Where did this title come from anyway? Chains, ropes, wings? What kind of conceptual progression is this? Yet it is the key, at least in this slightly indigo expression of my personal inter-dimensional warble. I want to fly -- that's why the wings -- only aviators have wings, others have paws, fins, or less. Wings need stretching (they can atrophy, you know) and to fly to the stars is the dream of all winged creatures. Let's remember the ropes. The bird seems tied with them. (A leashed bird? I thought only dogs wore leashes. Not even cats wear leashes, so why should a bird? If you let the bird go it flies away, no? You cannot bind a bird, so you keep it in a cage. No other choice, right? How can I then be this bird?)

Fear not: It is not so. The ropes are not a leash and not a limitation but a welcome facilitation. This bird's ropes are part of its being. It no longer matters to me why, so I confidently declare, "It is and so be it!" Fly with the flow. Look at this dimensional travel in another way: Think of the cloth and mix us together into this image. Do you want to fly too? Yes? Let's go. My talon catches the cloth and lifts it. The cloth stretches at that focused point of contact while the remainder earnestly resists displacement. The status quo is all-important to it. So I stretch and pull at it; maybe I can loosen some threads? Some come, some stay. Some say no way. Some reject, some rebel, some are curious. Some say, "Not this time, maybe later." No matter, I no longer concern myself with numbers. The ropes connect me to those who want to fly. These ropes are not chains but are my ticket home and my free ride to the stars! They seamlessly integrate with my intentions. It is win-win. We fly together as far as we can go and when we get there, I can stay! I can stay as long as you can. I hunger for the taste of your relishing the taste of whatever it is you taste. The connection is real, and now I fly without restriction. If I avoid destiny, I don't get there. Acceptance is a relief all its own.

Those who are there are there. And for me, that's all that counts. Do I see elephants strolling in procession through the jungle? It doesn't matter.

Blessed Love.
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