How to sing without words?
Much less to write the song in my heart…
Who will witness what cannot be expressed from this life?
Though the rivers run deep one can only hear trickles on the surface, if they care enough to put an ear to the ground, sensing it’s pulse.
How am I to bring this submerged, moving iceberg to the surface?
How can I give you fresh water from the melt?
Why is my heart continually silent in its renewing?
How can I build a bridge back into song?
One day my spring will come.
The birds will sing through me, and I through them, and my alignment will feel total.
For now I lay in the wet and dry soil, hidden, covered and fully in the process of my own death and rebirth, without the hint of the future.
Without the want for any hint of the future. Be it as it may. I have died many times and this time let me come back as my own surprise.