Table of Contents
You are your words, no more, no less.
I awaken, enlivened with no real understanding why. Looking out my window I wonder at the miracle that I am. Millions upon billions of chance events leading to the precise collection of cells that I am today. An eternity of history making me what I am. Me.
So I stretch and yawn and walk naked into the garden, looking around and simply being. I never feel that I've done that enough. Just been what I am. I am mystified and fascinated by the flowers, endless spirals wrapping down into dewey, soft gentle perfection. A plant as unique as I am, and individual flower opening it's own arms in wonder at the perfection of life. Now is the most wonderful time to be alive, simply because it is. Now I am on the cusp, falling through eternity pushing the past behind me and diving in to the future, but most of all just hanging there mid-swan dive like a pendulum preparing to swing back. Hanging for a second in nothingness and waiting for everything.
Lying back against the grass, I feel wrapped in nature, embraced as part of it loved with a powerful, natural power. Embraced simply because I am, and always will be. I am in love with myself, in love with the world in love with those I hate. I understand the cellular nature of being, and am. You cannot hate yourself, not really. All we yearn for is to be together, to throw our arms wide enought to embrace the whole of reality and pull it tight against us. Our underlying nature sings to itself, understanding not the facile divisions we draw between ourselves and other. We are one.
I feel like stretching my conciousness until I am everything, making slow languid love in the sunlight, making love with the sunlight, rolling over and over and drowing in warm, happy loving.
With a sigh and a shrug, I wander inside. Piping hot coffee and toast. A shower and a suit and I'm ready to join the world as an individual. The godhead is behind me, but not forgotten. I live all my life knowing that theres more. Thats enough for me.
And you know, I don't even have a garden.
© Sept 16th, 1999 - Morgan Morningstar. All Rights (in all media) Reserved.