No soul knows the whole.
No life knows the age.
No single heart remembers
where every wound has carried it
or where every hope has been.
One rises.
One falls.
Another reaches toward it.
A thousand become a people,
a million become a culture,
and somewhere between
the breaking and returning
society begins to move
as something greater
than its souls.
Perhaps the person is the drop.
Perhaps Love is the place
where one small Spirit
touches another.
Perhaps humanity is not hidden
inside either one.
Perhaps society is the wave
that neither could make alone.
And the greater Spirit—
perhaps the greater Spirit is the sea
discovering, for one impossible moment,
that it is becoming.
Every life a current.
Every generation a tide.
Every age a storm
with no soul untouched by it.
Billions of beautiful Spirits
rising and falling,
overlapping and becoming,
none of them the whole,
until together
they become something
that can look back upon existence
and say:
We are here.
Then one day
each life becomes still.
But the Spirit remains.
And somewhere beyond the horizon
another soul begins.
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