ENCHANTED WORD

Common knowledge, I think, is the idea of what "humanity" is, what "humanity" looks like, what "humanity" does. Generally accepted is our soul-bearing attribute.

Soul-bearing.

And so there are beings that are not soul-bearing. They harvest souls and behave and think in a manner that is not of a kind that is human, Of a kind of human, Of a kind human, Of humankind.

I think there are many kinds of parents who reward and punish the behavior of their children through the acts of "giving" and "taking away."

Thinking about reward and punishment, and given the intersection of the history of humankind with the inhuman, what could be a punishment for the many trespasses against us?

What if they were given that which they desire? Souls--souls that carry the memories of centuries of their trespasses against us.

Would not a soul enforce accountability, responsibility, guilt, remorse, and by extension, atonement? Would not a soul activate conscience and consciousness?

I think being granted a soul would serve as both a punishment and reward, for with it comes growth and the warm embrace of the experience of humanity.

Of a lumen, I write.

Barren are the walls.

Darkness reveals a soft glow..

Exquisite in my sight.

Mysteriously alive.

A flame collects my mind.

Captured mine eyes.

I cannot look away.

From its dance and trance,

Thoughts escape..

His words are so beautifully poetic that they float into my heart space and into the dark recesses of my mind and emanate throughout.  With his song, I know, he can rule the way I move..

I imagine him..

And I want to consume all that he is

All of him.

And I want sweating from his pores all that is me

All of me.

An integration. A consummation.

Like the eyes of Jalaluddin when he looked at his Jodhaa, gratitude will flood the eyes of He who looks at me. So shall it be. So shall it be.

It is Spoken. It is Sung. It is Done.

I often think to myself that if I could feel all the love that "God" feels for all of creation, and subsequently the emotions that inevitably result from when looking out into just our world--bliss, joy, grief, anger, regret...rage--my heart and mind would explode.

"10 Minutes a day you must spend with me," said the kind, sweet evergreen tree.

Such was the remedy that he prescribed to me when I asked if he, to me, would stillness teach.

He sounded like Gandalf--a projection of my mind. He explained it when I asked the reason why.

"But don't bring your phone."

Goodness, How could he know?

I focus only when I'm completely alone.

"I won't," I said. Then I nodded my head, and I smiled because he had watched me lose track.

"Every day before winter," said Ibrahim the Evergreen, "lest you can bare the bitter cold and make it through."

I threw my phone on the ground after I muted the sound, and we sat in silent agreement, we two.

He caught my scent on a windy day; My skin had the taste of lemongrass. I was afraid at first when he landed, but that was short-lived. I did not panic.

It wasn't invasion but aromatic invitation accepted instinctively. He searched this surface with mind on his purpose, and I watched silently.

Across my hand and around my fingers, he tickled in search of something sweet. I giggled, too, and dared not move lest he consider me an enemy.

I am not a flower.

Not his usual company.

But today,  he came for me.

And so, a flower I am to a bee.