Listen to the past.

Strain to make out its whispers, escaping through ancient fissures on the earth,

Breathing constantly in your ears. The past will drag you down and have you listen

To the whispers of the wind, the chatter of the leaves swaying to the songs of their branches

As they fall.

The past will build inside you like a fire and burn

In a way that no fighter can put out but you.

Feel it now, it is whispering.

Close your eyes and follow it when it beckons.

Feel the shivers on your spine as it strokes you. Listen.

The past is trapped. Intoned into little dark space on the earth,

Graveyards and tree trunks and rivers.

Open your eyes and scan the bleeding horizons, for messages, meaning, for life.

Who are you?

Let the scorching heat in your heart flare up until you forget.

Bind yourself to you spirit and become one.

The wind will whisper of the past in your ears now and then

The ocean will repeat it, the trees will murmur it

Again and again.

But you must listen with your eyes, because the past is revealed to only those who look.

Moments, mere seconds so fragile yet so persistent

Like a single butterfly, flapping against the wind.

Look for them.

Close your eyes and listen to what speaks to you.

Find the past and clutch it in your fingers, tighten your fist and never let it go.

Feel its pulse within your fist and let its warmth trickle slowly into your body.

Listen to the past.