#i'm allowed

🔷️:

I'm moving my limbs connected to my joints that are attached on strings; and the strings attach to a place I can't see, hear, smell or touch but I know is more real than what my puppet body is currently experiencing. As I peer up into the piercing blue hypnotic sight of the sky, I see the face of the that whom pulls my string - she looks of me 

Being from and being of are not the same but they exist in the same family 

Attempting to understand my purpose is purposeless as I exist a puppet on the string. So what could bring peace to such a calamity, to such a catastrophe, and to such a tragedy?

For this, the puppet does not know. 

For this the puppet may never get an answer 

For this the puppet may have nothing more than what her wooden body and squishy brain to contort into an understanding because the question is far beyond her comprehension.

Far beyond any language shared between the puller of the strings and the puppet 

What must the puppet do except continue moving?; 

For that is the puppets only option 

The puppet wishes not to die. 

The puppet knows not of what death is but, is very accustomed to life. 

The puppet can imagine the peace in the cessation of suffering that death would bring, but the puppet is unsure.

The puppet is unsure of what that cessation of suffering will look like because without the puppets tears there would be no puppets laughter - seeing the beauty in the suffering: the cool scar left over from a cut or a bruise 

The puppet knows not what joy would feel like without suffering. So what is the puppet to do?.