On a molecular level,
The cellular memory holds true
All effort expended
To find a time and place
In which to dwell,
Informed by
That essential consciousness,
These arbitrary labels
Like hens and butterflies and humans
Blend together
Into a symphony and stream
A many-colored
Familiar
Precious
Fragrance
Filled with memory,
Undifferentiated
By such epochal
Designations
Mind walking
Through those tunnels
Brushing cobwebs aside
From the “ancient” to
“classical” to
“ancestral”
And listening to the
Quiet resonance
Of being.
One is found.
*** This photo is from my recent visit to Oregon and the poem was inspired by the peace and quiet of my friend's beautiful farm.
