What is the human heart but a vital organ to our device. How is it that we "see," through this chamber, concepts such as oneness, desire, care and brokenness?
How is there believing in seeing when a condition such as vertigo resides in the ear, while Hysterical Blindness derives from the mind? Balance is tricky, I suppose.
I was actually surprised to find myself in the exact same patch of land where I laid my head to rest in my previous dream. But there I was, bundled in leaves and covered in small clusters of grape skins and wilted flower petals.
I sat against the Big Oak, stretching out my limbs and breathing in the Sun. Open. I looked over my shoulder and I could see my home, my community near the bottom of the hill. Then I noticed a glistening pond further down the path from my camp.
I stripped to bathe before making my way back to life. The water gave me a genuine welcome. Though I showed signs of scratches and crusted blood along my shoulder, I felt no pain. I was almost proud of the emblems from the previous day's voyage. I tightened my face and cupped my hands in the water to pour a stream above my head. When I brought the hand saucer to the air I felt a spongy clasp against my knuckles.
I opened my eyes to see a man made of sand and earth, moss and bark; covered in leaves and bits of blossoms and fruit. He carried an aroma of fresh-baked tea cakes and the hold in his eyes was more powerful than a tornado pounding its fist against the sky.
"I have a scar" I quietly blurted. He never spoke out loud, but in the slowest motion revealed a gracious smile and comforting nod. He held my hands in his and stared into my forehead.
With one blink, I once again found the orb from two nights ago, beaming within my chest. I could hear a faint voice in my head, but I could not understand every syllable. I leaned in closer to this Green Man and followed immense love in his hazel-mint eyes; woozy as if I had spun around or swallowed the poppy he wore as cufflinks in his bark.
Our faces were opposing, temple to temple, when I heard the voice again. It sounded like the ocean and the wind, a fire crackling in the woods, a dragon fly's ancient rhythm to the humming bird's spring sonnet.
Engrossed within this dance of emotion, cheek to cheek, I feel no corruption. Zero resistance. His wiry arm raises to the back of my neck and a vibration runs through my hair like an opaline comb. We are always; first light that bore us. No sacraments. No lease. No promises. "Just breathe" he whispers in my heart. My spine becomes divine and intertwined. Bunched flowers develop into a band around my head; exotic and common, buds and blooms. Baby's breath cascading over my body like lace.
I lay in love with the breeze against my skin like a child musing over miracles, which can be anything from a mother's embrace to a firefly at dusk. The power to change is subtle and crafty and ever-present, deep within your personal abyss.
I begin to feel a heat radiating within. A giggle stirs my pose and I see the brightest seed before me, my son. He takes my hand and leads me to the road. I squat down to hold him and he kisses my face. If this is life, I take it again and again. The joy of his dove-like purity is worth a thousand scars.
Maybe I will take wing like Psyche one day; burn up like The Phoenix and then rise again. Elpi may hand off her cosmic baton and I'll take the Four Winds for a ride, and that's great. Those are beautiful and present moments. Life is not always about the tar pits of illusion and agony of circumstance or consequence. Neither facet of life is constant.
Sooner or later, we all replant. We push through the soil, but you must replenish and nourish to sustain.
...your hopes...
... your life...
... and your dreams.
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