Approaching their potential downfall, they began to play with the strings of temptation. 1, 2, and oh how wonderful it felt to let go… to break free from the monotony of the every day! They danced and sang, and stirred their mind with a delicious blend of testing and tasting all the things. Pleasure. Divine nectar, and a simple aphrodisiac of the Spirit. But when it was time to return, they realized that they didn’t want to let those strings go… nor to stop the music that they could finally hear. They wanted the whirling dervish to continue. So they went on. Too soon, their arms were tired. The slippery slope of adventure and desire came so quickly, and they found their arms lifeless… like puppets. Yet they had to keep moving. Swinging listlessly, wildly, they kept those strings moving up and down. They blamed the Muse of Liberation and Freedom for their plight. They blamed her for their endless game and dance. But they couldn’t see how bound she was to their actions and to their choices. Like them, she wanted nothing more than to rest. And she cried out from below, begging them to see – to notice – that they were the ones with the strings. They were the ones who could cut these cords and liberate unwanted attachments. Only they could say no, and peer into their own shadows. Below, she waited, endlessly, for them to free themselves from their shackles of ‘there’s nothing I can do.’ She waited, miserably even, for them to find sovereignty, freedom and hope – for them to rewrite their story and to step into the truth that they were the keepers of their soul.