In Search of Eden

I am not from here.

I am born from the lungs of trees and wings and forgotten things.

I smell the ancient breath of Eden on the breeze.

It smells like a woman, soft and earthy

untethered from a starved society

rooted in an ancient forest and thick with the musk of creatures

fearless, feral, free.

In stillness and solitude, I can hear Eve’s cry.

A cry to be heard, to be known for who she is.

A cry to set the record straight.

Woman was not the downfall of humankind.

Nor was man.

The sin was not curiosity, nor the lust for the taste of wisdom.

The sin was faithlessness, turning away from presence, forgetting how to just be.

Nowadays we conquer.

We plummet through moments saturated with meaning,

preoccupied by what comes next.

In our haste, we have become ravagers.

Our desires bulldoze through holy forests.

Our demands devour the soil that gives.

But there are verdant meadows

pushing through the cracks in the pavement,

the birds are singing,

and a new voice whispers,

“Dawn is coming.”

Heaven is already here.

In the kiss of the wind and the taste of morning dew.

In the exhale of the trees that dances between your ribcage.

In the arduous climb of the lowly worm

from deep dark solitude into the joy of rain.

The waking, breathing, sleeping.

The ancient river, the heartbeat of time.

The eternal essence ever expanding.

Become nothing and everything.

Becoming one with it all.