For You To Do
your task is limitless and only one
to create freedom by accepting it
to realise something inner yet beyond
through each texture and flavour of action and in-action
singing sword or landing foot
bursting flower or folding wing
to let your knotted framing loosen
sometimes to shock and shake off whispered trappings
the hidden webbed assumptions
shells assumed as heritage
to breathe and shine
*
not your individuation, but that of the angel
not your individuation, but that of your angels
who sing to you because they love you
who have chosen you as a gift given as freely
as the gift you gave in choosing them
it is not for you that you embrace yourself in love
worship yourself as sacred
but to honour those that honour you
or more, it is indeed for you
as everything is and must be and can only be for you
not for any deserving – you are so far beyond
the seeming world of just deserts –
no account could measure
your immeasurable grace
*
your task is not a burden, it has no “have to”, “should” or “must”
and the only duty in it
is the gift within this gift:
a duty you can freely follow
that is, in deed, your freedom
your freedom to feel meaning
freedom to devote
be free by following
by listening
by loving whichever song you choose to love
dancing your own heart-beat out into its existence
moving wild and wanton, sweet and sybilant
or find some words and take your pick
dance the dance for its being sacred
live the permission to move free
improvise
pick any rhythm, tone or timbre
note, chord, arrangement, symphony
back up the beat or harmonise
make new tracks or join the choir
take rest to the strokes of lullabies
or this, or this, or that
as if these words could more than scat out
mayfly syllables in the embrace of the timeless
*
your task can be to say, in humility and pride
I live because I am free to live
I sing because I am free to sing
I write because I am free to write
because I am at peace with the perfect impossibility
of saying what I mean
of knowing what is meant
I write, I sing, I live in praise
of precisely and entirely that whose name I’ll never know
at the unknowable heart of the unknowable heart
as I offer a lovingly failed attempt
to word these words
to show how perfectly empty
are these narrow hands