#58: No Bars, No Chains, No . . . (Freedom)

Some Folks Spend Their Lives A-Wishin'
For What They See On Television.
Other Folks Are On A Mission
Searchin' For Lands Alask-More.
Though Science Grants The Future Fission
Greener Fields And Better Fishin',
Just Make Sure That Your Collision
Into Your Chosen Task, Or . . .
With Your Future Has Precision . . .
Contains A Clause For Its Rescission,
'Cause You May Find Your Decision
Gets You What You Ask For!

Jo-Mima had his hands full when
we finally took our seats.
Apparently, he'd grabbed some drugs
passing the pharmacy.

So I reached down and grabbed a card
almost too thin to hold.
The writing was so delicate
the word could not be told.

"Wherever it is we're going ought
to offer us surprise.
I just can't read this card at all.
Here, you give it a try?"

"I can't see a thing," Jo answered . . .
"nothing but a blank.
I trust that we aren't headed for
nowhere, to be frank."

The Phil-Mobile then lurched ahead,
but weirder than our clue,
was a windshield that remained so clear,
unlike our normal view.

No images flew to greet us as
the Buggy slowed to rest . . .
no contour helped us recognize
our hill beyond a guess.

No vision of flora or fauna came
to entertain our eyes.
No sound of life would give us cause
to search for its disguise.

I heard the click of the door release,
and watched a smoky mist
fill the Buggy, and fill my mind
with mood of nothingness.

"Voice," I cried, trying to keep
from falling comatose.
"Help us, please." Jo-Mima's plea
was like a distant ghost.

There is no way for me to tell,
especially on this trip,
how long we lay there stranded, or
how long we might have slept.

I think the Buggy woke me up . . .
perhaps the engine turned . . .
the door was shut, the cockpit clear.
Jo looked at me concerned.

Neither of us could formulate
a thought before we heard . . .
the Voice was calling us to life
with a riddle quite absurd.

"I long for the day when a mortal man
can pass a tougher test.
You try to travel Philosophy States
like an honorary guest.

Regardless, your intentions earn
you both the right to know
the State where you've been sleeping for
a hundred years or so.

You've come to know that all these States,
despite their worldly norm,
are experienced by you, while you trek
through their most pristine form.

As difficult as it might have been
to recognize Success,
or any other State you've seen,
or had the luck to miss . . .

you've finally come to visit at
a State that drives a spike
through heart and soul, as well as brain.
That's what Freedom's like.

Like babies crying for another piece
of moldy birthday cake,
you spend your living begging for
a freer path to take.

Even the lowly prey of the woods
know better than to plead
for freedom from the jungle's rules,
and cover of the weed.

Even the hawk that sails the wind
above the valley floor
knows not to trade the shackles of
his daily hunting chore.

Only man, whose arrogance knows
no upper boundary
might request the granting of
a wish like being free.

Since Freedom here is absolute,
perhaps your world can't show
the terror felt by him for whom . . .
anything can go.

Count yourselves as fortunate men,
surviving certain death
that comes with total freedom and
total emptiness . . .

and don't expect that I'll be here
every time you faint,
succumbing to a truth you dreamt
was something that it ain't!"

The Carriage door then slowly closed.
The engine cranked and purred.
Jo read a card still on the floor . . .
and then the windshield blurred.