You merged from behind a raspberry bush. On a fragrant summer evening. You were a dot of light and I chose to see you golden. You have been my travel-mate since I've opened my eyes to life. You've traveled with me through mysteries I could never understand and it was not your job to explain anything; ever. Sometimes you travel from flower to flower and sometimes I lose sight of you. You become a colorful kite vanishing into the endless sky, a shooting star landing where I cannot reach you. You too sleep, maybe at the peak of the Himalayas, maybe on the wings of a tiny bird or maybe on the wavelets of a calm mysterious beautiful river. What you whisper in my ear cannot become a book what you breathe into my being cannot become a religion. If anyone has seen you and I'm sure they have, if anyone has heard you, and I'm sure they have, then they'd also know that the notion of you is so ethereal, so changeable, so paradox and so unknown that they cannot trap you in man-made notions. No, you cannot be defined and no, your whispers have a different tune for different souls. Believe me, I am trying to accept that I'll never know you, never understand you. Sometimes you become a pouring of Jasmine petals as a blessing for a lone traveler who pauses to sigh. Maybe that is a blessing and maybe it is a blessing that I have made peace with not knowing you and sometimes, achingly, loving you.
Hydeh Aubon (5/8/08)
