A Rudderless Sunday

Unknown direction. Without meaning. Nothing imposed. A wisp of freedom. Like when we were twenty-two, only a few decades north.

A dream – by day. The steering apparatus is inoperative. Lighthouses, invisible and unimportant.

No speed. No supervision.

Drifting from a world of ‘tearing down’ to a boundless testing ground of un-inspected wonder. From fizzle – to fulfillment.

A breath of wind, a devised current, a generated Sunday wave . . . anticipated, only happening because of a divot in your heart.

You ponder all surrounding literature and realize the best is – unread.

This upcoming sentient cruise with; a shared, solemn language restricted to those topics that you identify as the most sacred – for you. An ultimate disconnect of troubles, rocky shorelines or nautical mishaps. A capturing of wholesomeness that only freedom – in its purest form – is capable of bringing.

Now . . . allow the ship on which you are sailing to disappear, and the ‘thinker of these thoughts’ – let that person disappear also.

Any and all attachments – allow none a free ride. It’s Sunday.

Your Sunday.

Published by Kumi

Liaison to the Infinite.

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