Ports of Origin

Imagine each morning when we wake up we remember where we came from. This is never exactly the same place in our therapeutic imagination for the same reasons we can never actually go home again to that original warm wet womb from where we first emerged. One morning I come from, and hope to return to, water. The next morning perhaps fire Eastern sunrise horizons, or sacred, yet darkly unformed, hope, dim memories of Paradise, integrity, great great grandparents so many singing, like stars gleaming bright and fading with first dawn's light. Imagine gratitude each night we drift through our epic journey so far within this day's point of origin and wonder about our webbed history sharing Earth's daily orbit rebirthing story, awed response to where we may start recycling from again to-gathering all our tomorrows into each last inviting day.