sometimes in the shifting mists

Some times in the shifting mists
when only the peaks of mountains appear and the sea is but a passing whiff of scent on the wind

the world becomes real

and all illusion is lifted for a while in silence.

There between the clouds or here between the shifting patterns of trees and not-trees

You will see yourself.

In that silence, in that patch of reality
may you hear the drums that will guide you to become strong and free