Time was set in motion. His parents decided, when their child will come, it should be a free child. Their child came. They offered him their world.
Time passed on. And because he was raised in a Catholic culture he never considered himself to be a totally free human being. His peers sought to join a religious system in order to gain the eternal bliss and freedom of the soul. But belonging somewhere, anywhere is not freedom. Free is the wind. You need to become the wind, not wanting to know how and why, but only to experience this quality of freedom that leads to the original religion, where the soul is finally one, and aligned with anything.
Time passed on. So much precious laughing time was wasted. Once people said, “Give me liberty or give me death.” Now his peers were saying, “Make me a slave, just pay me enough.” What is it like to be so free -so trapped, staring wistfully through the window when the door isn’t locked? Something must be radically wrong with a culture and a civilization when its youth begins to desert it. They want him to be a number, trapped in his own script. He was fast in his chains, and yet a slave. “Why was I born a man, of whom to make a brute?” What kind of bird sings only when caught? When he slowly woke up, he thought he must have his own world. Who he was, what he was, had to be unwritten –it gathers dust, give it away. His freedom belonged to lightning, not to electricity. Meanwhile, he tried to bear up under the yoke, “I am not the only slave in the world. Why should I be free? I can bear as much as any of them. Besides I am but a boy, and all boys are bound to some one.”
Time passed on. They asked, “Don’t you want to be happy and good?” “I’m not sure what’s really meant by happy and good. I would like just to be free. To run off of the page altogether, to somewhere secret where words like ‘happy’ and ‘good’ will never find me.” His belief then was that it was easier to die, than to live. He’d rather make friends with Death, as a means to learn a few truths, than to allow life to lead him blindly astray within its subjective views and enraptured sciolism. You break through the veil whenever you strap on a sword or chant the ancient verses. For a second he saw, and seeing this secret, he was the secret. For a second there was meaning.
Time passed on. “Oh, that I were free! Let me be free! Why am I a brute? I will run away. I will not stand. I will get to a place where you forgive people. Get caught, or clear, I’ll try it. I had as well die with this ague. I have only one life to lose. I had as well be killed running as die standing.” He wished to be the freedom’s swift winged angels that fly around the world. “Oh, that if I could go! Oh, that if I were on one of your gallant decks, under your protecting wing! Try it? Yes!” And, loosed from his moorings, the glad ship was sailing; hiding in the dim distance. Betwixt him and you, the turbid waters started rolling. He dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky. “Go on, go on. If I just could fly!”
Time passed on. And contradictorily, he realized, before he had come to Africa he had known about nothing but death. When forced to confront his fears they disintegrate, like illusions when viewed up close. There he had learnt to live, to decide things for himself; he had learnt what it felt like to wash in river in the sunshine until he was clean himself, and what it felt like to satisfy his hunger with primal fruits that tasted natural, and what it felt like to love without possession the gracefulness with which she moved in the battle –like liquid flesh; he had learnt the sound of laughter that was free from cruelty; he had learnt the meaning of beauty; he had learnt to escape when he wrote a tale that brought beauty into the world. As a truly free man there he was not free ‘from’ anything, nor free ‘to’ anything, he was just free. Free within himself. He was never freer than when he became most himself, most human, most just, most excellent…
So time passed on. “What would you think when you’ll die?” The liquid black girl had that tentative half smile, like she was almost embarrassed by what she was asking. “What would you think?” Her voice dropped just slightly and lost even the suggestion of a smile. She was watching him like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to ask the question, as she wasn’t even sure she wanted to know the answer. He can almost see her elders’ words and doubts drifting in her head. On every side of her were the lights and the woods he want to see forever. And if his freedom were real, it would be this place, there, with her. He didn’t say anything, because he just wanted one minute to look at her face before he gave her his last secret. And then he told her. “I’m seeing it now.”
So much time passed on. So, thanks! Because I was born a brute … of whom to make a man.
Freedom – Dugutigui