These wounds show me where I often have not been able to listen to another. Deep scars that fold the flesh and tighten the muscles and sinews; stressing the bones of ancestral twilight; thresholds of pain and sorrow, choking the throat and filling the space of my being with invisible storm clouds and selfish desires to be met, while the other waits, expectantly for my acknowledgement of their own suffering.

 

My past grips me in those moments, making me forget, that from the very first "human handprint on a cave wall, we're part of something continuous."

From rings that bind us to another's hand, removed for a meeting with spirit in a lodge of glowing stones and vapour. Removed for a heart that yearned to be free from a cage forged in the underworld.

 

Freedom and truth call now, with a horn of amber and pipes of ebony from Africa...the wellspring of humanity.

And love and joy whisper continuously, in softer tones, asking to be remembered; to be heeded when heaviness descends from unknown heights and seriousness threatens to dampen our smiles.

 

Stay alert and listen for their cries in each moment. Pause, and leave spaces between the notes of each song that life offers up. For there, you will find a question: 'How shall I show up in this moment?'

A simple enough question, but overflowing with libation and liberation.