I am not trying
to be anything but me..
I knew her once... before this body found me...
knew the language she spoke... the melody in her heart
the answers to all of existence... the key to the every secret we seek
and I know that from the day I entered this world
thrust and pushed from that gentle warm embrace
in pain... naked... gasping for life... cut off from the womb of love itself
and In my terror
I lost her.
I lost the ability to speak...
suddenly in a world full of bounds and chains
surrounded by beings of a primitive way... clouded visions
and minds who could not hear nor understand my cries
I grew to understand the language of necessity
and as I spoke their words my understanding faded
the more I learned, the more I forgot all the things I had known
I remember it all...
some days buried so deep I'm sure it has gone
but somewhere inside the the truth, the story still resonates..
I know when I hear it now... in the words spoken by my fellows
fellow prisoners and guards, fellow lovers, fellow dreamers
fellow victims and killers, fellow keepers, fellow seekers...
little by little I relearn
all of that I once knew without question
when I'm not looking they arrive upon my threshold
the unplanned, yet welcome guest in a standing invitation
when I stop trying so hard to be whatever it is I've been trained to be
when I pause for a moment to take a breath
when a voice outside of my own body connects and my ears open for the moment to hear
listening quietly to hear the voices amongst the trees as the birds speak
when I sit by the ever changing river... watching how she dances and skips along...
no fear.. no self
no constant trying to grab at the walls
chasing after ghosts and the walking dead
no created wants running me in futile figure eights
no expectations on what I deserve for all my goodness
or self mutilation sprung from lists upon lists of Karmic debts I believe I may owe
and all those who offend my senses
seeing the lovely eyes in spite of the lame foot
and in that moment speaking from the universe within
learning more myself from the words on my lips than likely teaching the other
I knew her once
and I hear her voice call
every now and then in the songs drifting from the guitar
the lyrics pouring from some other heart through the speakers of the radio
the sister or brother, mother, father or friend
or from the stranger sitting on a bench beside me
yes, I hear her...
and though I no longer speak her native tongue
I am quite sure she hears me when I cry out with every particle of this dust
to tell me her name... where she is... and how I can find her again some day