Wouldn’t it be nice if we had no hooks?  No buttons, no triggers, no wounds that get inadvertently bumped by someone else’s wound acting up?  Wound against wound, fear screaming at fear; it is such a tiresome useless game.  But here we are, human experiments, free will and struggle our bouncing balls.

I pull away from the game.  I now sit in the stands and watch myself unskillfully believe that once I get this match, this score, this retort, this solution–I will “win” and will be done with the game.  But it is a tournament, and there is always the next competition.  Perhaps I will stay out of the court for a while.  Just sit here and watch the wind.

The wind does not keep score.  The brown dead blossom bodies hanging from the fruitless cherry tree are not hostages in a war.  Neither are the red glistening full cherries in my back yard a success and achievement.

I claim today to be the wind without hooks or triggers or buttons.  I am soft and free, smooth and easy, slippery like a fish in the eternal ocean of Your always everywhere love.