All things arrive into our lives in steps and stages
creation ex nihilo
Is the providence of God alone
There are these histories, all things with their histories.
Histories that reach out like bramble vines.
Cables connecting ourselves with the stories
that drift into our stories.
Memories are tendrils that root us in the right now.
There is this little slack in them.
That is how we move foreward into tomorrow.
With just exactly the freedom we allow ourselves.
Knowing is holding fast to things.
Loving is connection.
We can only ever let go
in certain senses of the term.
After we embrace
There will be no full liberation.
We may say that we set it free.
We may say that we are set free.
But the saying does not make it so.
The saying does not make it so
But when they strapped you all down in that room together
Even the scary man with the court order.
When they applied the slimy electrodes to your temple.
When they followed the ect with jelly donuts and then they sent you on your way.
They cut the cables.
Uprooted the roots.
Liberated you from yourselves.
And from me.
I feel sad that you do not remember
Your favorite Christmas Special.
Or that one time, that we laughed and laughed
I can accept that a memory
or even a hundred.
Are swept away in that current-
Invasive thing, violating the synapses,
damning the dendrite,
alieniating the axons…
I feel sad for you but I will accept all that.
from the stories that orbited your orbit
now set free
Billiard balls on the braking shot.
That which was once touching
If you love something, set it free.
If it doesn’t come back.
It never was love in the first place.
It isn’t love anymore.
In the first place.