A friend said to me the other day, “What if trees could only see their trunks?  That would be like us – we see such a small part of what we are, when we look at our bodies.”  Something like that.  It got me thinking, long and deeply, about what else there is of me, and how I might learn to see it.

Stand still and breathe

and let yourself expand

along the outer reaches of yourself

beyond your skin

The part that flies up into trees

and soars among the birds

and reaches to the feelings of another

intrepid kindness knitting souls together

You’ll find new life in moving

in the part that dances in the waves

that glint afar across the bay

You’ll kindle someones’ distant spark of hope

open in joy for having been there

to witness someone’s song-filled, fledgling flight

This is part of you 

more so than bones

more present than your pulse

The part that knows 

and guides 

and glows.