Boundaries and Belonging

Norway Flamsbana trainstop

How many cells make my heart?
(As well care to know
how many angels on a pin).
I’d rather become a single cell,
and have a conversation
with a poet:

She wants to know about Boundaries.
Containers, I declare,
like “duh”.
My boundary makes the shape of me,
of course, the lovely form of me.
But permeable, you see.
I invite in everything I need.
And every other thing, well,
I simply decline to admit.
Large I am, with both.

She wants to know about Belonging.
I love belonging to the heart!
(And to the body whole,
and as an earthling inside of Gaia,
and as a planetary being in the quantum field…)

Each of us cells in a continuous ritual
contributes all our artistry
and then makes room
for the next on the stage.
It’s a conscious dancing together
in delicious wildness,
in delirious cooperation!
I’m telling you,
from the first cell multiplication,
it’s a high of ecstatic belonging.

Oh poet, apprehend it!
How boundaries and belonging
are each so perfectly wonderful
and each so perfectly true.
I’d like pry her human mind
out of its false ascendance,
so she could grasp
that it’s the hologram heart,
(of which I am a part, and also all)
that allows her to perceive!

The heart, the beloved heart,
with every boundary dancer, (that’s me)
sets the poet’s direction.
With every beat of the cosmic music,
the heart, the beloved heart,
assures the poet’s belonging.

©Susa Silvermarie 2025