Spirits are animals of freedom.
Hard to catch, impossible to tame, yet beautiful to be observed. They lend their energy by being close, they move, they drive, they stop, they flim.
Spirits are harnessed by ideas. Ideas are their traps, yet if trapped, they bleed away. Never stop them, never catch them, for you will never own them.
Spirits belong to us, not me, not you, they belong to the universe. Why do you think I should grab them? Why do I think they will be locked by your spirits?
Your spirits? Do you have your spirits? Are they really yours, or are you just a station on their ride to love.
Spirits are in love. Spirits dance. Spirits form beings in all dimensions, spirits can condense in one. Love. God. Cell. Yet as they condense, they’re not there anymore. Observation repositions them, like a bat hits the ping pong ball to move in a blink.
Spirits trap us, sometimes. They take us for rides. They blind us. Sometimes they blind us for life, often for lives, even for eons. Spirits are reflections of eternity, unwinding of serpentined roads, unfolding of embraced lovers. Of life and death. Of you and me. Of us. Of universe.
Love thy spirits.