I am descending now.
My bliss: being one creature,
a single occupant of time and place.
I have prayers, most unspoken,
a swirling drift of wind and stream of mind.
When I bend into spirit fears,
I learn my way to beauty,
loving the science of mystery.
I am of the perennial
though I know not how.
Observing creation as of it,
not above it,
I am an embodied genome
unraveling into the imagined mass of yonder.
Death is birth awaiting.
Wildflowers have taught me such things.
James Scott Smith
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