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Perspective: The Part of Me That Flies

On a windy day, many spirits stand against me. Float beside me, caress my strands and offer their hand. Remember the way to be. To float or to fly, to fly or to fall. Remember we? On a windy day I fall up to my home of many into a realm of less matter and more space a little water and much light. Light as a feather they say I’m cold as ice at times ready to leave it dust sometimes, a little aloof. On a windy day we separate and find our own, come back again and build our home. I miss you so so so so so so much when you’re light and I’m as you are where I am free of attachment and flying into gravity in reverse of time and linear lines in stories that tell a tale of why am I here. And being away reminds me of why you need me, and why we forget to better remember the difference between pull into and apart prying into or apart let me fly for a while. You’ll find me landing into a matter and grow up of decay and somehow more than alive. Let me fall sometime, over the rainbow and still shatter into pieces of many versions of itself, many colors of one. I will float at times, and you’ll feel my prying and standing against, testing and channeling in, watch this one time and repeat in your time. Meet me on a windy day.


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