This place eludes all efforts to capture it
Well-protected by spirits,
It's where everything real resides
It's why dreaming can't be photographed
And loving can't be quantified
And truth can only be seen in pale representations
once it leaves the immediacy of experience
It's where newborn babies see visions
Musicians hear songs
Old farmers hang out and share stories
It's where the conversations happen that shape one's life
And connections are affirmed that give it substance
It's off the radar screen of all established media
It's the mad dreaming that is wiser and more real by far
than anything that can be purchased in a store, on the street, or over the internet
It's more silent than silence, and more symphonic than a symphony
It's darker than the darkest night, and brighter than the sun
It can't be compared to anything
And words can only hint at it
Yet now, and forever, it's the only place that is
From this moment on, I swear, I will dwell nowhere else
Forget all my previous directions, they were illusions, too precise
I think Rumi had it right
There's a place, I'll meet you there
Chris Roth edits Talking Leaves.
�2002 Talking Leaves
Fall 2002
Volume 12, Number 3
Eco-Shelter, Coming to Our Senses
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