Puppeteer

My right hand raises, slowly, until it is pointed directly at the sun, extended toward the heavens and the stars above.

My left is drawn across my face, deliberately blocking my view of the earth surrounding me. Silhouettes dancing over vast, open plains are shut out, blocked from sight, from sound.

Slowly my feet move forward, step by step, moving toward an unknown location. I have lost all physical senses – I cannot tell where I am.

Controlled by a puppeteer, I have no power over my movements. There are strings attached to my every joint so that each microscopic movement is mastered. Over time, every motion becomes second nature, and the puppeteer has succeeded.

The conductor of conscience, and courier of communication, the puppeteer invests hours of time, meticulously perfecting its puppet. The strings bind them together, and until they are cut, the puppet moves as it is controlled – each and every motion, forever and ever.

Photo Credit: 2.bp.blogspot.com

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