to drop effortlessly gliding down down to play the weighted game of gravity's surf...no more holding on..no need..it is time...time to let go..to let it go...nothing more is needed now, thank you for your service, hang up your pinny on the way out and put down that endless list that never got tick tocked off...
all we have to do is breathe...breathe out and with the sigh flees all that is ready...ready to fly the nest, nested for ages old within waiting, just awaiting for the lil inner bird call that sweetly tweets 'its time'...a bare whisper that bares all thats needs to be known...'its time'..at the door, all packed up with an empty suitcase, tickets in hand, one way, way down, or up, or in a kinda helter skelter wind blown autumn laughter in the park way..it doesnt really matter, noone minds...its all a dance
letting go...the sweet toothed surrender into the empty place...ready to be dissolved into the next adventure...
letting go...of the grip that grips great tightness...through the veils..like the gossamer scarves of the mysterious gypsy siren..one by one they fall...like the shining scaled scales of the sacred dragon, felt fear finally fated, softened through prayer and tears, through love and tender holding, until they fall one by one, flinted petals until only bare flesh, nay, the translucence of pulsing life is left standing..raw to the touch, new born, oh so innocent and ancient in its stories...
like alice who fell down that hole and was never the same again...theres no choice..when you hear the whisper 'its time'...
with grace..with hands held with love and knowing and breath and angels and faith and trust and tenderness and the knowing that the call is the call to the surrender of the old life
wait in line...dance in line...and like the leaf...when the time comes wear your snazziest most spark flame popping hue
time to surrender..give up give in to the call...call to arms, to arm with wings that which needs to lay to rest..marked forever by descansos, by memory, by time, by crossroads of moments collected and collated in the giant map of marvellous things...
why hold on...from our grubby fingers let go...let go...let go...as we empty lightness comes..as we empty lift off inevitable...all the feathers of the feathered pillow pillowed fought out...empty case, cotton and fresh and filled with where we laid our heads..and yet the carpet fills with feathers, of a creature not yet formed but waiting to take shape, in the dark shadows of the dawn light
fall with grace
its the only way to go