The path is shrouded in
beauty, the way
mysterious, fitting for a
time as this. Lean
in. Expand. How shall we be
this day? What
percolates in bellies and hearts
across the
globe? The mind has had its day. Today
belongs to dreamers, artists, poets. Tomorrow
calls forth the intuitive. Obscurity
wants light
carriers, beacons in the fog.
Who is trustworthy,
what kind of community do we
desire? Enough
questions. I walk to the woods. Drape my body
length-wise over fallen
trunk. Moss below me;
sky above. Pull up my knees,
prayer form in
reverse. Chest opened wide
for breath, arms
dropped limply down sides, shoulders
brushing
rough bark. Fingers trail down,
finding rest on leaf-
coated earth. Heart opening
pose. More real
than yoga bolster, this old
log. Sunlight squints
vision. Tree tops dance with clouds. Oak roots
murmur and wind whispers secretly
through
boughs. Tree roots communicate:
Grandmother to mother to daughter to grand-daughter...
an unseen network
of tendrils and
fungus. Branching as deep and
wide below
as seen above. I feel the vibrant community.
Know this is as real as trolls
on facebook, the
bleeding hearts, cynics, mockers,
idealists
commenting on news feeds. All the yelling, all
the silence, both equally felt.
What is real?
What are the nerves and sinew,
the communication
lines, the heartbeats of this brave, new
world? These woods open my heart. And, across
the way in woods higher than
the log on which
I muse, lives another. Over there,
the woods are a
fortress. The trees guard private
property. Is the
heart over there closed? Everything belongs -
so beautiful in theory; challenging in reality.
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