I think of the wing of a bird
the wing I found
--by the side of the road--
of a bird now dead
the wing so intricate and beautiful
now in decay
I imagine this--the millions of birds
beautiful
coming into being, fading away
the artist painting a billion paintings
the stories wondrous, tragic
the story of that bird—alive
growing feathers, flying, eating
alive and then dead,
and then the materials un-forming
so brief a story
so brief a life
I imagine The Life
creating itself into a billion forms
and then re-creating another billion forms
with almost infinite variation
a kaleidoscope
of beauty and diversity
and different ways of being conscious of the work
and different ways of participating in creating
making choices
Can you feel the inner creative energy in each one?
So now I am creating and seeing as Myke
and how beautiful I am
eyes looking out at this world
heart capable of love
making changes, healing, choosing
and I will dissolve and disintegrate too
and I will reform into a new being
the larger I Am
--it sounds so static, in a way--
yet it is not static
it is creating
evolving
engaging,
weaving
curious
dare I say hopeful?
(Is there a goal to which it strives?)
(Or is it playing to see what happens next?)
(Am I?)
The stories
billions of stories
Can the stories appreciate the magic
be full of wonder and gratitude
enjoy the show?
I am that
I am the bird who grew feathers and died
and was seen by the Myke
and was photographed by the Margy
I want to wake up.
Holy One,
open my body and emotions and intellect
to be united in awareness with my Larger Self
with the Creator
with the Limitless One
Help me to remember who I Am
as the I
as the Myke
Each being is beautiful
We are all one Being
Each story is beautiful
We are all one Story
