The Jungle

The Jungle

     Daylight gives up to a cool, dark, drowsiness on a jungle grid (the jungle itself appearing as an array of isolated cells), where solitude is complete—no sounds and, just as perfect as the clearest blues and greens any (human?) eye could imagine. Suzi pauses for a moment as if she were letting the stillness leave her unconvinced of its isolation. Up the mountain, samples remain, leaves uncollected, roots uncut. She is sensing a natural dwelling, a place where a (spiritual?) gatekeeper might dwell, a housing for a finite number of entity states. There is the ocean below (to which the jungle calls softly)--making its noises almost sad, far away, water tumbling the distance, as if the jungle has become its own automata and, Suzi its only neighborhood--shining, fluorescing against even the bluest moonlight. 

     It seems the jungle holds its own glimpse of what it is now and, possibly, how it will be. It has constructed its own dwelling and now, simply, seeks a timeless new spiritual advice from ...what? Is this primal jungle the DNA headwaters that led to the God gene, so pervasive and, in full expression across the globe among theHumans (yes, masking as blushing bride, one who stares into the very face of love itself). It has been faithful, at least to the ocean, the sky. It acts child-like: never angry, always hungry. Its sounds and colors take Suzi nowhere--at least in the sense of theHumans and, yet, still at night, Suzi does notice the stars do come out one at a time. She does notice.