The myth of separation

You’ve been told
you are separate.

That your mind lives behind your eyes,
your breath belongs to you,
your thinking ends at the skull.

That intelligence
means language,
means opposable thumbs,
means control.

But your body knows better.

It remembers the carbon
that once lived in leaf and root.
It remembers the breath
shared silently
with every green thing
within reach.

The bacteria in your gut.
Not strangers,
not intruders,
but old companions,
older than thought.

The story of separation
is loud.

It says the world is a resource.
That plants are data,
that land is property,
that beings without voices
have nothing to say.

But step outside.

Into the woodland.
Or the unkempt verge.
Or the crack between pavement stones.

Feel how the story shifts.

Feel how your skin
doesn’t seal you off
but lets the wind in.

Feel how your body leans,
unconsciously,
toward green.

Notice how the silence
around plants
is not absence
but invitation.

You are not apart.
You are not above.

You are part of the breathing.
You are one thread
in the great, living fabric.

Stay with that.
Let the old story soften.
Let the green world
tell you another one.

One you can feel
from the inside.