| Cindy: | Look at this art work closely. Does it of represent life or death? |
| Don: | Both sides of the same coin - connected inextricably. |
| Cindy: | Fair enough, but why write crap like this about touching? |
| Aiko: | Yeah, if the author was really doing it, would he need poetry? |
| Bai-Luo: | Does it matter? Every poem is a skeleton in some sense, but at times the graveyards of literature are interesting. |
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Learn to touch others like wind touching pine trees - trusting your intuition and capacity to perceive Touching is a sacrament - a sharing of primal needs The air touches us through each breath & earth touches the soles of our feet The stars touch us constantly with their radiance & every moment we are embraced in ways unseen Don't let civilization turn you into an untouching, uncaring being – for those afraid to touch become isolated & to them all creatures seem alien & existence itself illusory Tethered by cords of rationality to a universe which ultimately doesn't care they free-fall towards oblivion finding entropy everywhere . . . Reach out and affirm the world you see – never be afraid to touch the core of being Manifest caring through each deed & if others seem dry water them gently: The raindrops of touch will penetrate hard skins of belief & in time even barren soil sprouts green |
