Wisdom walks amongst the cottonwoods today
I feel the presence of ancient.
From where do you come asks the wind to no one in particular?
From where do I hail?
I want to scream out: "I need more to go on than that."
What a loaded question indeed. 
I could pontificate on the ancient starseeds that gave life to this fragile form
Or would you rather me bore you with the heavy Tome that some call my life story?
I can't tell you where in all truth.
Are we talking about meat suits or immortal souls?
Wait, is there even a soul animating this form?
Some would say it's just a clockwork Darwinian accident born of a frame shift mutational leap.
Am I just here or am I also there?
What is this I of which I speak?
How does it speak of itself at all?
All of this churns and cascades through the lens of tiny hamster wheels grinding away.
Happenstance or grand design?
Designed then by whom or what?
Where is this designer?
Chaos that arranges itself with such ordered abandon?
I think not, I think designer and design are false and true in the same currency.
But see that inescapable I emerges, and what is I?
Where is this I located betwixt these shadowed eyes?
Questions swirl through the maelstrom of quixotic pondering.
Ah, I am from where I am from.
Perhaps I is from where I is from?
Ovarian mother united with the one in a million Y man.
Erupting into cosmic bliss in a moment of immaculate conception.
Ah, I am from the divine feminine and yet also the divine masculine.
I am the union of the lion and the lamb leaving to imagination which is witch.
Tired I grow of these paradoxical musings, so goodday busy world.
Buzz about like the drones you are immune to any thought as to why, how, where, or what.
Ignorance is not bliss, it is blindness.
So blind men will lead blind so they say.
Down the path of sweet, naive destruction.
Death by slow ennui and repressed dissatisfaction.