Wednesday, July 25, 2012

A Knife -- With Wings

    Depending on the kind of knife, it can be a life-saving implement. But it can kill too -- sometimes without justice or mercy. As such, it's both artifact and symbol, a freighted metaphor for the divided soul of our species.


    but what kind?    dagger    machete    butcher    switchblade    scalpel    stiletto?    what about that Hopalong Cassidy pocket knife I gave away long ago?    this tool's a parable of our humanity    or our inhumanity    it can slice save hack heal defend kill    we started with a sharpened stone    now we slash with laser beams!    I love the uses a knife can have    yet the mere thought of a paper cut sends shivers down my spine

     among other meanings the gesture of open hands says:    "I hold no knife."    but a knife can be hidden away in the heart    a knife no one else ever sees can leisurely slice us into bite-size pieces only fit for feeding the crows    I've walked around for days before realizing a knife was stuck in my back    looked at another way though a knife can divide the corrupt from the healthy    the false from the true    and this is good    a necessary thing

     when we meet for the first time please bring no knife and I'll do the same    it's important we possess one but dangerous for it to possess us    I knew a knife once which couldn't decide whether it wanted to help or hurt    like many mercenaries it was pulled this way and that    finally I said:    "I'll carry you at my side    but only if you consecrate your blade to carving more Light into this world"


     Once I had a dream in which I said to my mother: "You will never understand me unless you accept that I'm not just a human being, I'm also a Winged Being." This might be the single most important truth I've had to discover and actualize in order to continue to spiritually evolve.


     today I feel stripped of my wings    I'm earthbound and flailing    whenever I try to take off I scarcely rise before the inevitable nosedive and crash    I know I was born to fly but I've suffered too much damage    also there's the clumsy weight of all my faults and stumblings    wings are meant for airy creatures    light-hearted beings    not battered old warriors    my scars make me heavy    they drag me down

     yet Angels attend me    arriving through some chance angle of starlight they suddenly stroke my face with their scintillant wings    always they remind me I'm more than just my mortal hungers and fears    that the impossibility of flight isn't thwarted by how relentlessly time corrodes my bones    flight is the pure signature of Grace    it's given only to a naked    empty    and surrendered soul

     a day will come when I'll inherit my wings forever    if not in this life then surely the next    all our flightless groping is a hard but necessary school    truly I'm never more aware of my pinions than when they're useless    when strain as I might    I can't spread them wide and take to the sky!    one morning though the last freight of shadows will fall from me    the last feathers of darkness will drop from my wings


1 comment:

  1. Hello,

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    Out The Front Knives