Ravyn's picture

When the forest was young, before the awareness of i, before the grasp--and the weight--of the sense of self that would inevitably strip you from the poppy family that cradled you in your clay, your dirt, your soil—there was nothing else—only the omnipotent, immeasurable inhale and exhale of life from the gods and their forest that ran through you. Your soul swam in the sky of endless blue and bathed in veils of light, weightless, and bound to nothing, yet, anchored, nestled, deep in the ground of the roots of your poppy family in wholeness and oneness. Ah, yes, even after all this time, you can still recall a time with no outline; when life was most peaceful, that by now it feels like a faraway dream in which your gaze faced eternally towards the sun.