you are me... I am her... we are it... it is...

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

yet somehow

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

forgiving myself

my humanity

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