"Prove it!" "Show me your evidence!" "What makes you think you would know!" The proverbial pat on the head that conveys the other's superiority and knowing and our child like simplicity they tolerate. Our world demands facts, cause and effect, evidence and proof. I cannot prove these threads of hope or the whispers of life calling each to arise and take hold of their dream. I cannot even say I have or can always believe. I cannot say when "post" is clicked that doubt does not batter me. I simply cannot prove that you and I fill a desire in the universe, a unique niche and calling, a dreaming made alive for a purpose. I am not so wise.
I know when I laid my body down into this snow melt running river, the riverbed sand clinging to my hair and the tiny pebbled river rocks dancing under my body, I thought I felt my heart stop. And instead of "w-a-t-e-r" scratched in the palm of my hand, sand, water, rocks and cold etched in the silence of the heart's brief stillness "y-e-s". My own baptism into context, sensation and life becoming tangible. And so, my simple thread, for however many or few the seasons remain, will be to spell "y-e-s" with threads, whispers and even tears. Maybe one day an echo. Maybe another's hand reaching for mine beneath the pump's or river's streaming water.
I do believe.