Come.

Walk with me.

Weld yourself to me and together as one, with multiplied senses, let us invade opened fields.

Ecology takes creation and breaks it into a study of each organism in its environment. With collector’s zeal it measures the population of entire colonies of ants, their movements and effect on all surrounds.

The compound of the separate units is a world within a world; there are no voids in a system designed only by instinct to cater to a complete whole.

To close a voice on one connects the voice to all; sensing of a single creature ripples through the colony and awareness moves to all. The colony understands holding together assures survival.

Worlds within worlds.

We, the current pinnacle of the evolution pole, move in separate rooms, in separate houses. Ostensibly the reward of a thinking mind is separation. The voice of the colony is scattered in the wind created by the scramble for worth.

The sound of one hand clapping is the applause we hold to cosmic music. The hug of an amputee the secular love we give ourselves and others. With one eye we look, listen with one ear, our upper lip curls in disdain to tell only half the story. We move through the world dismembered.

And we love with our minds—the traitors of the heart.

We no longer make love; we have sex, or “enjoy a brief repast,” or bonk or a myriad other euphemisms employed to distance the heart from the melding of two bodies with souls in sync.

A kiss has become a ritual of perfunctory greeting holding only a brief frisson of pleasure to surrounding air molecules.

A hug? Ahh … the humming of bees in war dressage can be heard in the ripple effect of a hug given in sheer abandonment of all but the moment.

We are only what we choose to be—closed or opened; lost or here; indifferent or aware; aloof or together; separate or complete.

Worlds within worlds.

Walk with me.

image: mendolus shank via Compfight cc