First there is this weird thing called a body to deal with.  Eating, breathing, pooping.  Constant circulation of in and out.  Then there are emotions–feelings–urges, insights, tendencies, default stumbling blocks of old memories turned into irritations.

Then there is this feeling that I am a fish out of water.  Like I should really be weightless, or not having to breath every few seconds, or that just walking is a pain and tiresome.

Sure, I get the idea of “lessons” that keep bumping into me–but what’s with that?!  Did I really volunteer for this survival course?  That I won’t survive, by the way. 

And I thirst.  Every morning waking, I yearn for something I seem to lack.  With each feeling that goes through my body, I seem to be missing something, like my heart is only half-made and it every day seeks its completion.

I know it is You.  Her.  Him.  It.  The Trees.  The Rain.  The Green.  That’s why I press my cheek against the rough bark of a 300 year old douglas fir–You are in there.

Because the One I love lives inside of you, I get as close to you a I can.