Each step planted, no slippage, is how Sasquatch survived, but didn't evolve. Finally, it's all in the past: molecules, atoms, particles, strings vibrating silently to ethereal rhythms, as the nostrils' moist and dark hairy passages open to a larger question.

Perhaps I was
a bear,  an ape,
a flower? Perhaps a
human being.

Stalks of roses not yet in bloom, Persephone still entombed, I asked him if transpersonal experiences can solve the mystery of existence, revealing how and why the universe was created...Grof shook his head. 'Not solve,' he replied. 'Because ultimately earth confines its female scents to the Winter Garden. Where Corkscrew Hazel unwinds her golden braids, Chamaecyparis pisifera weeps, "A rose by any other name..."

od
or of
an an
cient
rune

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