A sense of spiritual longing that pervades one in a dark empty place, like the desert.
Strings pluck, drums beat,
and the sure voice of a nomad carries on the wind…
So we still dance to hypnotic rhythms,
to age-old melodies,
filling even the void
with the mystery
of our moving bodies…
I savor wild radish flowers,
cleanly spicy on the tongue;
pineapple bush blossoms;
subtly sweet, like fruit;
sow thistle leaves,
grassy, fibrous, prickly-edged,
I long to lose myself in the lush richness
of the forest,
in her many tastes and textures.
To dance to the wildness of her nature symphony, her green plant music, of vines and ferns, of weeds and herbs…
To drink tree sap;
to suck thistle milk
To kiss berries with my lips.
I am one who craves communion.
Always longing to immerse myself
within the beauty
of a different
To commune with other aspects
of this one creation…
We can share our sorrows and our earned wisdom. Our ancient secrets, that we still hold hidden.
I will love you for who you are.
You will love me for who I am.
So I disappear
into the earthen heart
of the forest.
She embraces me within the latticed canopy of her outstretched branches, holds me in her hands of leaves.
And she whispers to me, in her gentle song, wind rustling through the foliage: