I Am As Free As I Please

I am as free as I please    
No longer down there on my knees  
With the others who are blind  
To the power of the mind.  
   
Each must do this for themselves    
As to be unable is hell --    
To be at the mercy of another    
Whether he be fiend or brother.  
   
Each must solve this riddle of how    
In a universe where no one need bow.  
As the one who's made of all  
So, too, each must answer this call.    
                  
There must be a way for each to make  
What they please and no mistake.  
Where the challenge is to rise    
To this task as a bird that flies  
Without the need of magic feather    
The loss of which would be a tether.  
   
It is the focus of the will  
To feel what matters with great skill    
To dream and fashion with delight  
The heart's desire with all your might.                
So this becomes the endless quest    
The soul of work and play and rest.  
   
There is a way to consummate  
In perfect love, the ideal state    
To then look back on your success    
And hear the question of "What's next?"  
To ever forward surf the wave  
And never more to be a slave.  
   
In seeing others, we relate  
To what we like about their state.                      
In this, "what we're like" we know.  
In this, to "what we're like" we grow  
   
   
The image of other that we discover  
In what we like about the other --    
It’s like a sculpture of other that we create --        
And that's our fate --                                          
Only to know the other this way    
Like a melody that we must play    
So the song of the other becomes our own      
And only this way can the song be known.        
   
And so the sculpture of the sitter  
Is a stitch in time of the eternal knitter.  
The sculpture then becomes alive  
In its own right and so we thrive    
Pygmalion's dancing in an endless jive  
With each new sculpture that arrives.  
   
Then comes the time that we must know  
It’s time to let the sculpture go.                          
The sculpture then sculptor becomes    
To go its own way on the run.  
The parent now with empty nest.  
The fledgling leaves to find success.  
   
The sculptor and sitter are the parents  
Of the sculpture in which each are inherent.  
But each must let the sculpture go    
Separate and one in universal flow    
Not fearing to give up that part of themselves    
Where to hold on would create a hell.                
   
So the uni and the verse  
Unfurl and unfold in a primal burst.  
No physical action in this physical world  
Trumps the action of this magic unfurled    
Where the sculptures of the mind  
Lead in turn to outward kind    
Where sculptures become sculptors free  
Evolving in eternity.  
   
Any sculptor too can sit    
To be sculpted in sculptor's wit.                      
And so the universe expands  
By the magic of the sculptor's hand.  
And the magic of the sitter too  
Is required so it takes two    
Which leads to three and on and on  
In the magic of this endless song.  
   
To see yourself in a mirror clear    
Is to sculpt yourself so do not fear.  
Know a sculpture will be born  
That from the sculptor will be torn.                  
Let it go and you will grow    
Not be diminished.  Let it flow.  
It is you and you are it    
Though each is separate and that's it.  
   
This is the paradox that rules    
That makes us free and no one's fools.  
Do not fear the maker's wrath    
But claimed the maker's Golden Path    
Where made and maker are as one    
Together in one glorious sun.                      
   
   
Renounce oppression as a tool.  
The sculptor's tools are all that rule.  
Neither oppress nor be oppressed  
But see the path to true success.  
Don't save another nor be saved    
But save yourself or be enslaved.  
   
You are one and you are all    
All at once so hear the call.  
As you are each so hear the other.  
You want the same thing you'll discover.  
          
There's only "yes."  There is not "no."  
By our own choosing, so we flow.  
We can say "no" cause we're aware  
Of what we want -- there's "yes" in there.  
Step out of the cave of "no."  
Step to the light of what we know.  
We only know our heart's desire    
The warmth and light of that living fire.                  
   
This fire guides the sculptor's hand    
And lives in the sculptor at the sculptor's command.  
Choose what to choose to say "yes" to.  
That is the sculpture that will "come true."  
Don't fear this action of the mind.  
Claim the fire or be cold and blind.    
   
You give this fire to yourself.  
It cannot be taken by someone else                      
Nor can you take it from another    
Nor can you give it to your brother.  
   
What you ask, you will receive.  
What you sculpt in your mind is what you believe.  
When you believe on purpose, that is faith    
Then dreams come true in time and space.  
When you believe otherwise, you receive that    
Which is ironically a fact.  
   
The power of believing is a pact  
Which allows for one and all to act.                    
There is free will but we must choose it --  
For ourselves and others -- to use it.                    
It is the basis of free will --    
Where each can make whatever they will.  
   
This is the freedom of the sculptor's art    
Which the sculpture claims on its own part.  
The sculpture is a living part  
Of the sitter and sculptor fused in art.  
   
To give the sculpture self-control,  
The sculptor must divide his soul.  
To solve this dilemma, there must be  
Unity within diversity.                                        
Where each separate being has self control    
In one big cosmic jellyroll.  
Where the whole is in each part    
In the end as in the start  
   
Since the part is of the whole,  
This desire is mutual.  
It is a central paradox  
That whole and part are interlocked.  
Yet this locking sets each free    
In mutual and reciprocal harmony.  
As part thrives, so does the whole    
And vice versa in this jellyroll.  
This is why they both agree  
To love each other selfishly.                              
   
Freedom means that each controls  
What happens in their story told.  
If another controls your story,  
You lose your freedom and your glory.  
If the whole controls the part,  
There’s no way for freedom to start.  
The memory of this is hell --  
And down deep each remembers it well.  
The solution is the pact --  
Where each sculpts their own story in the creative act.  
   
We weave these stories in the mind --  
Then believe the results we later find.              
These mind stories come to life    
And can cut you like a knife.  
It begs the question "who is he  
Who bears responsibility?"  
Is it self or is it life  
Or is it other who wields that knife?  
   
Do we have monsters within?  
Is the monster in another's skin?  
"Better them than I," we say    
And so the martyred victim we play.  
Or we play the tyrant who needs the victim    
To get what is wanted like an addiction.            
   
We hide from what's inside our soul    
And let others supply the game plan and goal.  
We look to physical manipulation  
To control our story with these machinations.  
It is a magic feather plot  
To hide the truth of the power of thought.  
   
When faith is the instrument of control  
All actions flow out of the story told.  
The actions do not control the story    
The storyteller gets all the glory.  
Physical actions that align  
With the story roll out just fine.                          
   
What you believe is what you'll see  
In physical reality.  
What is the story in your mind  
That you constantly replay and rewind?        
You will get the like of that  
And afterwards say "it's a fact."  
   
You can instead start at the start  
And weave a story from your heart.  
Sculpt a story that feels good    
That's a wish you’d grant yourself if you could.    
   
You really have that genie's power  
To make dreams come true by the hour.  
Weave a story and practice it.  
It starts as a vapor but gets more thick.  
   
As you weave the story and spin it,  
You can feel it like you're in it.  
The depth of feeling lets you know  
That the story is becoming so.  
   
You'll live the story many times  
Before the physical version arrives.  
When you live in the story as if it's alive  
Then the physical version will later arrive.          
   
Stories start out as a solo endeavor    
But then when they match up they're woven together.  
Would-be victims and villains may one contract sign    
Or two lovers might meet with their stars aligned.  
   
This comes of the power of invitation    
Even in reciprocal degradation.  
Victim and villain get to pass the buck    
And credit the other for their good or bad luck.  
   
Though power of assertion is what it may seem,  
This is only the delusion of a fearful dream.  
Here on earth, we see memories of hell    
Where each person's story wasn't their own to tell.  
   
This is delusion but there is a solution.  
Each one must claim it to achieve resolution.              
The challenge of life is to spin stories well    
The more worth freedom and power, the further from hell.  
   
Each must feel for the content that lights his own fire    
From the unique perspective of his own heart's desire.  
To feel for this profile, is like surfing a wave    
Where we feel, in each instant, the motion we crave.  
   
We learn to give all in honing this art    
Because it's what feels good in our heart of hearts.  
Top surfers poised on the thundering swell    
Know that they ride the line between heaven and hell.