There was the idea of openness at the beginning of the prayer.
But that soon changed to change.
Freedom as our ability to change.
To change things around us.
To change things about ourselves.
To be changed.
I don’t know why I saw this.
To me, just off the cuff, what I would say freedom meant was the finding of an open door.
Through which I could walk.
Not to be trapped.
Isn’t trapped the opposite of freedom?
But perhaps “unable” is the true opposite of freedom.
“Unable” to move. Perhaps that is why I assumed freedom was about doors and the moving through them.
But “unable” touches so many things in us.
And when we are freed from our “unability” is that when we experience change?
Another good word for change would be transformation.
Voila! I remove the cape, and there instead of a rhinoceros is a bunny rabbit.
Is that freedom, really?
I suppose it is.
Freedom—the not staying still where you are.
And yet stillness is an essential practice. Our way of knowing where we are, who we are, and why we are.
So how is change freedom, if stillness is God?
That’s a funny contrast:
Change vs. stillness.
We are designed to change, to create.
We are created by the creator.
It’s as though we are all one big picture that is expected to continue painting our picture.
God set the original picture in place.
But we must change it.
So freedom, then, is the other essential aspect of ourselves—our freedom to create and change.
The yin to stillness’s yang.
(Or vice versa.)