Loving Roots

Fingers and gaze.
Dual sense of touch,
Of seeing and being seen.

This is my body, here
Beneath hand and eyes.
Unflattering signs of life, lived.

But why should I recoil?
This flesh has carried me
Secure through decades.

Has responded well to pleasure,
Endured pain, and stayed
Its course through fevered storms.

I must love this body
To truly know it. Love it
As it is, now and here.

For this is the anchor
Of all that I am.
This flesh is in some way

The roots of the numinous.
Form for that which is formless.
Seat of a marvelous awareness.

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