To Listen,

Not only with one’s ears
But with one’s whole being.

The words one may hear
Are not important.

How are the words delivered?
What imbues the utterer?

But I’d rather listen
To children playing,
To trees bending in a breeze
Their leaves rustling against each other.
To the lap of waves against a shore
Of sea birds screaming in the wind.

But as I said,
Not only with one’s ears.

The rhythms of movement in all things around,
Sometimes seeming chaotic,
Sometimes seeming in consonance,
Always changing, never the same.

Odors, physical sensations,
Thoughts arising from them,
Become a symphony,
A message.

A message which envelopes one,
Transports one,
To a place with no name,
Complete and whole.