THE RIGHT TO SPEAK ITS NAME

Freedom isn’t a right. It’s a gift, an act of grace. Its secret lies in the past. It lies in bringing the past to book, holding it to account. The past has its own music. In order to listen to it you have to set free the elements in it that still rule you. Not to release yourself from them but to set them free. Freedom is a gift – you cannot take it. Set those elements free and what is finest in you will be able to take its place as the center of your life – a gentle center. Not one resolve will pass without its nod and it will give its blessing to what lives in the present, for the future. What belongs to the past can stand and be judged – I’ll bear my gift of freedom with me along the road which gives.

 

The greatest certainty I have is that I am. My past remains as proof of this. No object in the world can be weighed against that self. Likewise nothing made of sense can understand the path this self has to follow just to be. Least of all is the world able to say anything about how the great invisible lends its light to the traveller.

 

Real Freedom lies neglected, without its wings. An imposter flies in its place and screams its own name where the heart of Freedom itself softly sings and longs for liberation. Who will hear that voice through all the surrounding noise? Only the one who’s come through pain to inner balance, the self who’s gained the right to speak It’s name.

 

Gives

Whatever else still rules me I’ll set free

to listen to the music of the past,

but what is finest in me wants to be

the gentle center of my life at last.

Not one resolve will pass without its nod

and it will give its blessing to what lives.

So let the travelled stand before its God,

I’ll take my gift along the road which gives.

 

Traveller

The single certainty is that I am,

and what I’ve been remains as proof to tell.

No object in the world can hold a gram

against that weight the self can measure well.

But nothing made of sense can comprehend

the path this being must travel just to be

or how the great invisible can lend

its light to let the traveller roam free.

 

Freedom

But Freedom lies neglected, without wings,

while round the world Its dull imposter flies

and screams its name where Its heart softly sings

and longs for liberation of the skies.

Will someone hear that voice through all the noise

and bow before its low imperative?

The one who comes through pain to inner poise,

the self who’s gained the right to let It live.

 

Best wishes, today,

Landar

 

© landar 2010. All rights reserved