Underneath every island is a mountain Hidden just below the water's surface. Underneath every tree there are roots— An intricate system and a world Entirely invisible from above. Underneath each of us Is an unseen world. Memory and history are mountains beneath us. The past that is now sealed behind us Secretly lifts us up to where we stand today, And each instant in time is only the tip of the iceberg. Surrounding the invisible heart of every person Is a host of others feeding their roots With the vital nourishment of their spirits. Is there anything more universally understood Than these depths that reside within us? And is there anything more taboo— more unspoken Than this same invisible world that feeds our waking lives— The past, the unseen mind, and the hidden heart That make us who we really are? Why then, when I see another person Do I so often regard them as a two-dimensional entity, Forgetting to revere the reality that they, too, have roots? Why do I race passed so many living souls As if this invisible world below everyone of us Were of no real consequence? No, I think that now, In this shallow hell called Flatland, There is nothing more counter cultural Than to plunge into the waters and the soil and the heart beneath To discover the depths within myself And within others. Could this be part of that “sacredness” That former generations have ascribed to the union of souls in marriage? But family, friendship, and all neighborliness— These too open up a different, but similarly Intimate and sacred opportunity. Oh God, if I ever came to put my faith in such a reality That proclaims that we are immersed in so much that is sacred— If I ever came to truly believe something that radical That could break through the seemingly impenetrable barrier Which has grown to separate me and you until now, I wouldn't be at all surprised if, at some point, I suddenly woke up to discover that, out of nowhere, The transcendent God of the universe Seemed to show up everywhere all at once.
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