Heart Flight Sometimes I can hold my heart in my hands, not the physical organ, mind you, but the heart-essence that is me, escaped from the prisons and confines of self enclosure. Utterly precious, joyfully bouyant, vibrantly alive, lighter than the air, it has no business held back from freedom, it doesn't belong caged, trapped. It has a greater purpose, it never was 'mine' to begin with, its infinite eyes peer everywhere. So I lift my hands upward and outward and let the heart take its place among the ten thousand things. June 26, 2001 (1 of 3)