Did you play with eyes opened wide to take in the magic of reality? So real were the wilds of life for me that even if the most learned spiritualist were to try to write it all off as illusion secondary to God consciousness, I would be gob stoppered in awe at the colors, contrasts, patterns, peace and explosivity of motion. My ears would be filled already with the thrumming of one pulse through space, and harmonics of wind on wing.
The first time I ever heard "Don't be so dramatic" and "Don't hold on to your story", was when I heard the modern man of the West. I felt as if living in full color and wraparound visibility had become intolerable and punishable by humiliation for being an organic, non-homogenized and therefore uncertified human.
The perceivable magic precipitated by nature's intercommunications with herself in her myriad forms is oh so intricate. Delicate. I have seen the Green Man. Pan. Have you? While his presence is becoming seemingly more intangible, his story dies hard, and so do those who have been commissioned to tell his tale. My story is his. He can have it.