We get into things.
We get out of things.
We see sunrises, and long stretches of open road.
We eat and sleep
In sunshine and under gray skies.
But what is this life our bodies move through, this deception of the flesh
This incomplete picture of who we really are.
How free can we be when we drop
The mistaken belief that going places
And the long empty stretches of life
Is life itself.
Is the bird free because they fly
Or the horse because they gallop?
Or is freedom a choice, a way of being in our minds and hearts
That blossoms into each moment.
c. Crissi McDonald