This blade of grass I hold
Or does this blade of grass hold me?
Such divinity in its simplicity,
Such simplicity is its divinity,
To be held by such a thing
Is to see life as it is meant to be lived.
A breeze takes hold of this part of me
This part of me that is free
And whisks it away in such abiding revelry
To go where Being says it must,
To be as time shall make it be,
Without complaint it rides the wave
And seeks to be no other place.
For what is a tree if not part of me?
What is this blade of grass if not me?
What is it that defines that what the wind does hold?
There is not one Being in this place
Who is a sum of the parts that make it seem to be
Who we are is the force that holds these parts as one,
Who makes those parts the simple word: “me”.