Kundalini Yoga + Sacred Living:

I Belong to All Things

The hair on my skin are the treetops I can see from my bedroom window. An elm here by this freckle, a dying cedar here by the crease in my elbow. I see them bend and whistle as the wind washes over my arms.

I belong to all things. All things are part of me.

The men I’ve loved are ribs, sewn by muscle that expands and contracts. Sinew and bone that when contracted, feel like a cage made of wet plaster that threatens to split me open when I take a deep breath. The hearts I’ve tended have become the strong white curves of bone that keep my heart from slipping out onto the ground. Sweeping round my lungs, pulling themselves apart with every inhale.

I belong to all things. All things are part of me.

My dear ones, the blood in my veins. My mother moves at my fingertips where I write my words and dig in dirt. My father pools in my toes, without which I would not stand. My sister rushes through capillaries in heat and snow. She is more my blood than any other living creature.

I belong to all things. All things are part of me.

The masks I wear are teeth and fingernails. My right thumb as teacher. My top left incisor the wolf. My ring fingernail is love, soft in the right ways. My molars are the stories I tell myself about the grandfather I didn’t know, but am a lot like. Some static, some ever-growing, fileable, in need of constant pruning. Some masks rot and must be pulled.

I belong to all things. All things are part of me.

Minneapolis, my knees. I am brought to them in a torrent of grief when hearts I’ve never known stop beating. For no reason but the appearance of their body (which is also mine, and yours too). Caps on asphalt. This violence is in my joints.

I belong to all things. All things are part of me.

Every human withheld water, food, basic kindness, a roof – all strands of my hair. You are not dead. The hair is alive, I don’t care what they say.

I belong to all things. All things are part of me.

And I. I am the stars. Polaris, the crown above my head. The milky way, this magnetized orb of radiance circling me. Ursa major, Orion, and Cassiopeia, spill from my lips and fingertips. They weave with your words, your embraces, your presence to birth new constellations. This sky is alive.

I belong to all things. All things are part of me.

And so I go on loving. The earth. Its creatures. My body. Unlearning the differences.

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