On the Wing

There is much on my mind. Many questions loom around my head and take shots at my heart. Often I can reply to the assaults with simple truths and self evident principles, but lately, things are again clouded. The permanence of some things is contrary to the forgiving nature in all children. As creatures of linear existence, humans feel their place in the stream of time on a daily basis. Every morning is marked by a number in red digitus. Every hour is monetized and weighed against the value of leisure. Everything is touched by the clock's hands. In amongst all this structure and calculation, however, has been the greatest sacrifice of all. For the song bird knows know day or hour, but only the eternal melody of heart beat and breath. Heartsongs flow freely in timeless moments and harmonies are found when the world stands still. Oh if only I could find the balance that I seek. There is always an answer in the stars; always a reply from the wind. I have only to find the right way to stretch my wings and listen to its call.

What does it mean to love? What time constraints can be put on such a thing? My heart tells me that there are none and my mind knows the same. However, the outworking and actualization of love is the wind whispered message I long to hear. It's times like these that I wish so badly to have my own grandmother willow to seek guidance from. She would utter some earthy wisdom and suddenly the physical impossibilities of mortal life would be rearranged in my favor. Oh if only... Although that remains an unfulfilled fantasy, perhaps, perspective is of key importance here. For my songs were played and my actions spoke volumes of what my heart knew. Yet, knew and know are so fickle in their nature. If life is ever lasting, all that I now know is comprised of an infinite amount of things I knew. After so long, they become the same thing. The past is irrelevant and transient. The present, therefore, is almost as frivolous and unimportant, save only that the present has the power to effect the future. And thats where all the magic really lies, doesnt it. The future is the pure essence of possibility. For although many things- great things, dynamic things, seemingly life altering things- may come about, only the seal of future continuance makes them of any real value. For no matter how extraordinary the star burst of lightning may be it is quickly forgotten. Things locked in the past are transient and passing. Once removed from any future possibility, they become locked in a room of fading images and decomposing dreams. So after all of this, I again ask you, What does it mean to love? For love in its truest form is not subject to time or reciprocity.  If it is locked into the past and fated to slowly unravel, was it ever love at all?

Questions like these weigh me down. They tire my eyes and slow my thoughts down to image laden emotions. Snapshot memories rise from the ground and ensnare my escaping feet. They find their vernal way around my legs and force feed gravity into my mouth. Song birds were never meant to think about such things or feel this way. Song birds were fated to sky far freedom and any less is a cruel irony. However, in all things the universe is not partial. When mother earth ensnares, father time brings release. The falcon in my spirit will outlive the ephemeral chains of my current state. The person I am on the inside is timeless and eventually, all the other things removed from my future will be clearly shown for their nature. Love, wisdom, justice and power are the only things that last. They form and reform in an ever expanding universe of perfection. If my life follows these things, only the constancy they provide will last. All else will be spent and released like the wind beneath my wings.