oak

she rode the spiritual glissando over the plains
stopping short of the rocky outcrop
that marked the headwaters
of what her heart called
little Ganges

9 meters away she dropped senses like clothing;
watched reality play whack a mole with time and space,
and arrived at the oak

it wasn't clear who owned the breathless state
as her outbreath sacrificed itself to the oak's inbreath
while the oak's inbreath surrendered itself to her outbreath

all of this in the blink of an I
until they were not two
but
won

won, to the oak's Witness:
of water, and grass and plains;
where fire and wheels and metal conspired
in the waging of war and peace and war again ~

no judgement, or lack of judgement;
no feeling, or lack of feeling;
no thought, or lack of thought ~
just the 10,000 things
bouncing like jumping beans
on the sun bleached fabric
of awareness

supine now, ~
feeling returning ~
as she was pulled back up music's long slope
to the violin's vibration and the prodigy's touch;
up the arm to the ajna;
to the space that housed living waters,
and her own private oak
that witnessed the Witness of all
that ever was
or would be