The sky parts,

inviting me closer,

calling me towards something,

no path,

no plan,

to go nowhere

or everywhere.

Just go…

be free.

Is the freedom in the flying or the landing?

Going away or coming home?

Is freedom in the movement,

or the stillness,

in the belonging,

or the aloneness,

in the surrender,

or the embrace?

Freedom is not achieved.

It is a quality of mind.

Could it be that I am afraid to truly be free?