~ from cats, dogs and nature to the flowering of body, mind and spirit ~

Friday, January 7, 2011

Stained Glass

A hand reaches out to wipe away the grime from the ancient image/way of being. How sad the face that seems to know his failure but unable to break free on his own. A finger traces the lead lines so dark and impenetrable, as they hold the very nature of him strongly rigid. A partly broken wing hangs at his side, the weight nearly unbearable. She wipes a tear from her eye and touches the figure and a little light shines through. Hope. Faith.

His contortions are sharp where he resides within the stained glass window. He cannot fly for his wings are heavy and dense. Trying to move, each tiny motion exhausting and ultimately futile for he is bound by the strictures imposed upon him by arrogance and violence. He is trapped in a miasm of his own devising, too clever for his own good.

And so he now must wait in his prison of hard panes/pains that cut him when he moves. Waiting for Her flow of softness to wash over him, dissolving the glass with Her warmth and fluidity, filling his wings with Her light and lightness, until the final shards crumble back into fine sand. 

Waiting until he is free to fly through the window where he once was held seeing only one view, and now to fly high upon Her Love to see experience all that is and could be.

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