The toy on the string, a simplistic design.
The juvenile object of the past, the past time, the object of manipulation for the simple minded.
It brings joy, they all say, not to be taken seriously, but of course for any toy, it is nothing more is it not?
Neither young nor old must grow attached they say, strictly for fun and nothing more.
What if this simple toy, was meant to be more than a toy? Perhaps it serves a greater purpose.
A greater gift bestowed upon its owner which brings it out of the darkness of death and cold, and into the light of living, breathing, moving.
For what if this object was not an object at all, but an extension.
Would it be an extension of ourselves? Perhaps what once was set apart, was now, a part.
The expression of longing, guilt, regret, sadness, sorrow, all conveyed within the soul, reaching out through the synthetic material that binds this separate soul, which may not be separate at all…
Yet happiness, joy, through the comfort, maybe not was it an object to bring thus feelings to our being, but part of us, part of us that brings into the light, what was there all along.
The inner working of the soul, the synergy of forces combined, growing our very essence into a expression of who we are, not to transform, but to beckon what is and will always be.
Through natural movements, no longer are we bound? Bound by the chains of the corporate world that sends us into the robotic realm? The neverending death of dreams, shattered by this swallowing abyss. Yet we find the connection, the substance of nature, flowing through our spirit, becoming one with the spirit of this object of manipulation, we find ourselves, in what we had not known to be ourselves, for what is ourselves could not be seen by ourselves alone…
Is this but a mere toy? Are we not to take it seriously. For the object of our passion, our drive, our spirit, is beckoning out those of whom we are, and those of whom we are meant to be. Surely within the materials of metals and plastic, through the earthly fibers that weave the painting of our soul, is more than a toy.
For it is the extension of ourselves, the creation of life, and the heartbeat of that of which makes us as one.