Living Free

So I've been thinking...

Living free is a hard thing.
Like Lazarus, alive yet in grave clothes;
Gasping: That's me.
Tomb opened, the deep inhale, oxygen.
I am alive.
Because I do believe (want to believe):
He IS the Resurrection and the Life.

Yet I trip on the linens that mummify.
What's worse, I wrap myself in these death-clothes as if I were dressing for the senior prom. Vain in my religiosity.

Pride.
Insecurity.

(The same fabric really - woven in the belief that somehow it's all about me.)

Fear.
Shame.
Complaint.

And I am bound.
Saying yes, but living the no.

Holy God, FREE ME.

Teach me the language of liberation.
You, God Who Breathes Life,
Whisper your melody.
For I have been bound in grave-clothes

living pungent death.

If I reach out will your hand entwine?
Pull me near?

I've been thinking....

If my pulse could tangle in your heart...
If my breath was your last exhale...
So close to taste your sweetness...
Then. I could be free.