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Ideas are funny things, they tickle your mind then scurry away without a thought for the consequences. It’s been a busy week here in the real world and the writing has slowed, I have been looking over the ideas I have started for Freedom at the Café, only tomorrow night (Thursday) and I have some slim pickings.

The thoughts are based around the apparent solidity of our idea of freedom, and what we believe it is. When you start to grapple with it, in reality it is a lot of different smaller objects of desire or need. The thought that we may make choices to give up some of these, in the name of Freedom, the big idea seems to me to be the contradiction we are living with in the modern world. So the image of pebbles or a cairn that marks our position as the reality of freedom in our world becomes more appealing to me as a starting point for some writing. The struggle is to bring it all together in a coherent and structured way. So at the moment I am playing with fragments. The swirl of words looking for some kind of solidarity on the page.


Rock, the solid idea we can all touch.

Freedom concept, a rock of an idea.
The big thing we carry, the tangible whole
of a multitude of ideas.
The washed pebbles of these ideas,
individual, smoothed and worn.
Washed over time.

Cairn, Marker in the mountains

Cairn, A marker in the mountains

The cairn.
It is possible to take away a stone
each time we pass. There are many.
One less is not too much.
It will be the stranger who tells us
What has been lost.

Flights over walls of mountains.

When the snow melts, torrents flow.
Walk in the autumn coloured trees,
hold hands often with someone you care for.
Give your love freely and watch the passing clouds.
Look outwards and live forwards.
Be noisy with children.
Walk tall, we all die in the end and from this there is no freedom.

Mountain Sunset

Mountain Sunset

Is there a line to be drawn in the sand, past which we will not give? At what point do we say enough? The little things seem not to affect the whole, this idea will lead to our eventual entrapment. Or am I just being overly dramatic for poetic effect?

You tell me.