We do not know what we do
Not know even that that we
Do not know it.  For might
Not some lost language
Of our infancy that we
Were born knowing but
Got covered up by disuse
Was forgot-Say a fluency
Of tonality akin to speaking
In tongues- a language of
Great power and subtlety
If we could hear it spoken
Telling us to Wake Up
We would then remember
And be transformed-cured
Of all diverse complaint
Healed of all injury.  I
Do but say such is my
Intuition that it is so and
Maybe so for all I know
A mysterious sleeping
Truth all but forgotten
May be revealed again
In its first pure light.
The beginning of All
Ever beginning, a glory
So new that it cannot be
Remembered but yet is
Always known to love.