In those holy moments of sleep and wake. Between what never was and always will be. I remember being a seed in the spring time.

I remember the long winter of forgetting. Buried deep in the underground soil. My world became black. Dark. Rooted. I relished in the days of wet. My world turned frozen. I was hard. It was not bad. The earth held me and I learned her songs. Her dark, deep, sweet songs that she sings at such a slow pace. Humans cannot hear them. They never will. When I was a seed underground, I heard them. But I cannot sing them to you. It would take too long and you would forget.

I forgot. I forgot about sunlight and days and anything beyond black beauty. My world was an engulfing low hum that became like the sky to me. I was wrapped. All the stars spread like topsoil I couldn’t decipher and didn’t care to. I slept and grew unknowingly beautiful. I forgot the topside world completely. It did not exist. A fairytale. I was happy here.

And then a small call rose in me. I felt a knowing hiss uncoil. That another world existed. I felt a push to unfurl. To leave all of this behind. The beautiful darkness. The thrum like honey in my heart. The comfort of unseen holding. None of it made sense. No one leaves this world. There is no leaving this world.

But this surge. It wanted me.

I felt the earth pull at my skin with greater gravity as I grew. And I felt the new shoots tear at my insides, wanting out. Reaching up for God knows what. I have no idea what’s up there. It could be death. I don’t care.

The rising feels right and unstoppable anyhow. My parts tear into pieces. Their parts tear into pieces. I’m undone and cannot stop the breaking. “Has this ever happened to anyone ever?!” I wonder in screams that sound like shooting stars. No one answers.

I remember this. Being a seed in the spring time. Terror. Agony. Bliss. Confusion. Chaos. Mystery.

Breathtaking beauty upon finally entering the world above. A world of unspeakable LIGHT.

A world with eyes to see things. A world that also carries a deep remembering. That this potential was carried within me all along.