Knowing Myself

I loved to lift my hands
and feel the moonlight’s silver chill.
With closed eyes, I listened
to flowers blooming, soft and still.

The world was only touch and breath;
each feeling carried truth.

I learned to spread my fingers wide
and measure moonlight from my side.
With open eyes, I traced the line
of petals shaped in nature’s design.

The world was no longer only felt—
it turned to thought, and thought to depth.

Then I learned—
sorrow has its natural course,
joy its hidden biological source.
Each love, each ache, each tender scar
bears evolution’s ancient mark.

I am entranced by the inward sight:
the self that feels, yet watches feeling rise;
the self engulfed beneath the waves,
yet on the shore, records the tides.

I see many selves come toward me,
some lifting their faces to moonlit skies,
some bending inward where quiet thought lies.
We meet, we know, we recognize:
each one is me,
yet each otherwise.