Walking the cobblestone streets of Bogota, Colombia. In the rush of the city, you can hear their cry.
I am walking on false stones
Pressed together like bodies on a train
I am sitting on crying wood
Forced into a shape of convenience
I see plants behind bars
Their imperfection cut by human minds.
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I miss the wild arrangements of green
The chaotic dance of trees & flowers
Or so it seems …
Because it is in those places
Our mother and father unite
To tell tales Of magic and divinity.
Are you listening?
I like to free
Every stone underneath my feet
Every flower on the side walk
And every tree planted for beauty.
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We are breathing the air they give us
But are we honoring their life?
Chaos is what we need to attract
The chaos that is growing
Within our hearts and from our earth.
Let’s be wild again.