When I feel pain, when I cry,

I feel you feel me.

What time and space have done,

delusions of separating what is one.

Who's one?

Conquered the riddle

of century's affront.

Were we woven in the whisper's of inception?

The day earth screamed it's first cry.

The beginning.

Before the silence, were we a figment of imagination?

Or, are we so special at all?

Does not the wind know the trees as it's on name,

It's own soul, light?

Or, is the wind just who carries our vibrations to each other?

And so the trees know our secrets.

As they are one with you and I.

Maybe to know beginnings and ends is to know magic up close.

A magician knows the eye is gullible,

with a desperate desire to believe in the unseen, the miracle.

When I am no longer on a cliff,

but across the mountain,

watching afar.

Wondering how do I get to that beautiful rock,

that riveting plunge into a seemingly bottomless chasm,

that same rock,

the one I feared terribly.

Is fear ever justified?

Yet, we find ourselves trembling,

forgetting our name,

waking our misunderstandings,

feeding our misconceptions,

imagery that bounces off our deepest burns and bruises,

torturing our matter, drinking our sweet idles, nourishing our pain.

Can you hear me?

In the quiet steps of a dream, in the song of the wind, in the rays of a sun.

Can you feel me?

In the air of your chest, the kiss to your head, the depth of your gut.

Can you see me?

In the crease of your hand, in the ink of your plan, in the bosom of your land, in the pride of your stand.

Can you smell me?

In the pollen of your growth, in the sweet aroma of yesterday's lessons, tomorrow's mystery,

In the presence of love?