Freelancers

I have a neighbour. If you knew him and you had to name him, you might call him W/2. W/2 is an interesting kind of person; if you were an Atlantean sorcerer, you would characterize him as an orichalcean alchemist. In his youth, he earned his doctorate from the Dreaming Spires, and currently sits in his tower turning paper into gold.

W/2 and I spend a lot of time walking around and eating cheap lunches. In our early middle age (or our late youth, perhaps?) we have discovered that there is such a thing as needless ambition. So we sit around, talk about life, education, happiness... we dream of a better society, a pragmatic one which works and yet has space for the intricate and marvelous dreams of children.

Informed by our common education, we think the best is yet to be. Informed by our happenstance travels, we think that truth is strong, and it prevails. Informed by our limited understanding, we believe that the Lord is our light.

We have become part of the company of the freelancers; like the cavalry of old, we are fast, we are reserved, we are able to operate in more dimensions than others. We know that in our capabilities, we have been richly blessed. It fires in us a determination to help others, just as the cavalry occasionally would arrive to save the day.

Yet, we know we have our limitations. We can't hold ground, take up fixed appointments, withstand the shifting sands and tides. We find it hard to comprehend the singleminded search for blue oceans when blood fills the water and dust fills the air. A blue ocean turns red too fast, unless the world be made a safer and happier place for all.

We eat lunch together, and we look at each other, and we feel mortal, human, perhaps afraid. We hear the eternal footman snicker. We hear the bell toll. We dare not ask the obvious questions, sometimes. But we are free, and for that, we give thanks.