There is a meadow in my mind,
a place of sacred mystery
where an endless sea of bluebonnets
wave when they see me on the
far side of the barbed wire strands.
I am no stranger, it seems.  A
weathered oak, scarred by lightening
and the anguishes of time, knows my name,
and the cluster of muted green
cedar bushes swing their arms
like children begging for an embrace.

Shoes in hand, I wiggle my toes into
the warm, fertile earth and I am captured
by a current of life, electrified by
a surging stream of energy.  Oneness, often
imagined, overwhelms.  Here
everything connects.  All things matter.
One heart beats for all and I gasp at my
deep belonging.  It is as if I am
birthed again as creation's
beloved child.

There is a meadow in my mind
and I am sure I have sat among
these fragrant flowers before.