Track One

I gaze into a meadow I'm not sure what the soul aspires for.
The rough grazing winds over the blades of grass
stirs the brazen histories of when I was strong and true. 

How can all this be so stark in the mind
now when I used to laugh at the sentiment that drives the beasts to the wild. 
I said, "How can so much be felt in a while?"

This barren distance that helps me see what was once not defined -- what have I myself denied and by what right? I seem to see more than what is in this light.  

I need place so many lives that would have crossed this path in another time. 
Would it not have been some word unkind
that brought me here or perhaps a test of what's divine, if only few will know. 

And I will be twisting like a leaf over the gale
whispering some lovely tale from a squirrel to a tree. 
I am but a borrower of its root, this puddle, or this yoke

worth its weight in stone as though these questions did this minute give. 
This breadth is but a step in another's dance. 
And I would need to comprehend yet even more than I can, given this chance;

for this is not a matter of what's in store but of many things beyond measure.
I need to unravel what spaces between me and the meadow I see,
for all that is here and all that is there is equal beyond repair.

If my mind could embrace beyond my arms' length, beyond what I can move,
what I can reach, then there is more than the meadow and me and the soul,
and the brush and the butterfly no matter how overwhelming they can be.  

They will not envelope me, and I shall not contain them within me. 
And if we all fell into place there will always be a space farther than myself can grow. 
And I needed not to be the master of it, nor its slave.