Vol 13, Num 6 :: 2014.03.21 — 2014.04.03
…the universal hanging-together of things,
their embeddedness in a universal matrix…Arthur Koestler
I fly light for the first time in many months,
flow like the fragrance from the incense stick
that does not decide the path to take.
The shriveled seed absorbs moisture from the soil,
listens to the story written in its core that says
the exact texture and taste of the fruit it would bear.
I place my ear close to the earth, hear pulsation
of my life in the fault lines, my heart beat registers
pangs of birth and templates the process of creation.
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