The seasons of my being

When disconnected from my body
I experience the world through my mind
And my everyday senses
As if all there is can be

Touched
Heard
Smelled
Tasted
Seen
Reasoned

I am out of time
With the world
Out of rhythm
With the seasons of my being

Like the stream
Run dry in the spring
Like leaves fallen from
Barren boughs in summer
Like a daffodil
Poking through the winter snow
Like the bear that will not sleep
When autumn’s colour fades

I touch the tree
Sense its rough bark
But do not feel its presence

I hear the birds sing
Delight in the sonorous notes
But am deaf to the song of the earth

I smell the rose
Take pleasure in the sweet, sweet scent
But do not feel the emotional associations

I taste the sour of the vinegar
And scowl at the pucker
Rather than delight in the strong sensations

I see the whole world’s beauty
A two-dimensional tableau, like a postcard
Disconnected from my presence

I know who I am and what I am about
But hold at bay the yearning within
Which knows no bounds

Who I know myself to be
What I know to be
What I sense to be

It is all so much less

Than who I could be
Than what I can sense
Than what I can know

Disconnection is a death of being
From which my body
Can resurrect me

Connecting to my body
Connects me
To everything