Cellular Memory

The fall of rain produces a droplet of creative impression from a wet cell that squeezes itself into a new organ — foreign territory that is familiar because felt in itIMG_4048s own universal oneness of origin but yet the unchosen trail behind becomes the one in front and we move into that intrigue. The stardust of ancient life before the dinosaurs, before the seas spewed forth transformative blobs of skin and hair and sturdy hardened bone mass to walk upon earth. Here is the cellular memory, we can feel all who have passed inside us, smiling, as we cling desperately to this one form without realizing our soul travel across galaxies of form and function … evolutionary babes in the wise woods of deep time, geologic time, of the previous ones who left no signs because of age and hidden energies once felt as simple as breathing. Glimpses of them peek out from the rocks but as an infinitesimal speck, a symbol, a single letter from a language of experience long forgotten. We think we know but our grasp is fragile and narrow; our souls know though. Love this body, this life; love others with a broad sweeping lens of celebration to see grand diversity, knowing the reality truly is unimaginable — and that, too, is beautiful because we will be seeking forever, an eternal curious journey of soul passages. My cells transmute and I can feel time shimmer, disappearing from the linear yardstick, becoming spirals and waves unseen but known. I’m not crazy. Am I?

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