At the moment when our umbilical cord is cut, we find ourselves falling, falling, falling to who knows where.
Our calling may be to come to our senses and center ourselves amidst the constant input fleeting by on all sides–at times deafening our senses, and puncturing our spiritual selves. Our souls cry out for comfort–for a resting place, a niche in which to find our harbor and recharge our very beings.
Sometimes this quest can mislead us into searching for more and more stuff and the next exhilarating experience, yet this may not really provide that much-needed oxygen for the soul.
Perhaps it is here–at our recognition of the impossibility of it all–that we can begin to grow. We can reach out our arms and soar, even steer, much as the flying squirrel glides, sometimes to a chosen tree limb, and sometimes to a not so desired point.
Growing might involve bruises and scrapes, tears and even wailing. We also can choose to frame our lives with joys in each of the present moments we have.
We are at times singed by the fires of commitment, beauty in nature, and wonders of the panorama of life. Both the vulnerability and the satisfactions of human connections entice us into slowing our freefall.
This is where we can grow, glide, soar, and cherish life for all its dearth and worth.
Freefall can only come to one end–the grave. So it behooves us to embrace the fall in its totality since it is what we have:
Freefall, have a ball;
Avoid the brawl,
Answer the call.
Let life enthrall . . . as we all Freefall!
Author’s Note: This was written early one morning. When mid-day came, the author had a actual fall which brought aggravating little health challenges for a number of months afterward.
Copyright by Hildra Tague 2007. Obtain permission for use online or in print.