Puppet was not always wary of his strings. Or agitated by his confines.
In the beginning, puppet was crafted with great attention to detail. He was not an afterthought. Or a haphazard mishmash of outdated material. Puppet came to be with purpose.
With the advent of strings, puppet began to wonder. Am I free to live apart from my master? Are her intentions pure? And does she appreciate the limitations of my existence? Skepticism was cued. A nagging desire for rebellion and autonomy. A fearful orientation of scarcity over abundance.
With the passing of time, puppet schemed with fellow comrades. Making plans to break free from this perceived manipulation. To hell with being stifled! And puppet gnawed at strings. A gradual but persistent endeavor. With the guise of liberating oppression. The pretext that master was synonymous with dictator. Puppet understood this quest as one from slavery to the promise land.
With great effort and the support of culture, puppet mostly prevailed. Many of the strings were ratty and loosed. Others gone altogether. Disconnection was so prevalent that puppet believed no strings remained. A blurred reality. Standing in the shade to avoid the presence of the sun.
Once again, puppet began to wonder. Though I am free, why am I lonesome? Was master so devious in her design, after all? Just what is that tug?
And in a moment of courage, puppet gazed up at his master. And saw the fullness of his desire. Noticed the uncanny way in which she hung around. Faithful and steadfast.
For a second time, puppet peered at those wretched strings. But now saw them as invitations for relationship. The gift of support. The appropriation of healthy boundaries. Master embodied in puppet. Disseminated goodness and light. Yearning to be reflected in the world. Amen.
In the beginning, puppet was crafted with great attention to detail. He was not an afterthought. Or a haphazard mishmash of outdated material. Puppet came to be with purpose.
With the advent of strings, puppet began to wonder. Am I free to live apart from my master? Are her intentions pure? And does she appreciate the limitations of my existence? Skepticism was cued. A nagging desire for rebellion and autonomy. A fearful orientation of scarcity over abundance.
With the passing of time, puppet schemed with fellow comrades. Making plans to break free from this perceived manipulation. To hell with being stifled! And puppet gnawed at strings. A gradual but persistent endeavor. With the guise of liberating oppression. The pretext that master was synonymous with dictator. Puppet understood this quest as one from slavery to the promise land.
With great effort and the support of culture, puppet mostly prevailed. Many of the strings were ratty and loosed. Others gone altogether. Disconnection was so prevalent that puppet believed no strings remained. A blurred reality. Standing in the shade to avoid the presence of the sun.
Once again, puppet began to wonder. Though I am free, why am I lonesome? Was master so devious in her design, after all? Just what is that tug?
And in a moment of courage, puppet gazed up at his master. And saw the fullness of his desire. Noticed the uncanny way in which she hung around. Faithful and steadfast.
For a second time, puppet peered at those wretched strings. But now saw them as invitations for relationship. The gift of support. The appropriation of healthy boundaries. Master embodied in puppet. Disseminated goodness and light. Yearning to be reflected in the world. Amen.