Beyond our ideas of right or wrong, there is a place. Let us meet there...

(Yalal ad-Din Rumi)

It is amazing that we have found each other, as we walk these turbulent paths of existence alone, in these unknown whereabouts, plagued by so much thought and distraction. It is amazing that we have been able to exchange the joy of being, the dream of being and our love.

To have been able to look at each other, even if they were side glances, each one in his or her own dance, and to have been able to enter the hall of forgiveness. Capable of extracting, at times, holy water from mutual understanding, from our deep wells of soul. People like us, who birth-crashed, inevitably, in such diverse places, with hearts on fire and eagerness to know.

I prostrate myself at the silence that lives in your heart and before your incredible soul.

Real life is about that. About sharing love. It is only when words are born, out of that starting point, when we say, "I know", that everything gets complicated and we end up entangled in a suffocating skein. And each of us then tries to describe the patterns of the ball, and we argue arduously about this way or that, and forget that there is only one thread, intertwining our hearts.

But there is a beautiful sunrise song that we all hear serendipitously. And we rush out to meet at dawn. Like moths, we fly towards light, without knowing why. And we meet, each with our dreams and our weaknesses, and we smile and dance like children at a fair.

Suddenly, we know each other, and our lives intersect. And we know then that we are not so alone. We feel that love is not only for the "close ones" – the relatives and friends until then cultivated – because now it is also poured among us, absolute strangers. A new life then blossoms, of laughter, of shared imagination, of dreaming a better world, with differences, arguments, and forgiveness, as often happens, among those who are extremely close.

And so, unexpectedly, improbable binomials of people share their depths, simply by knowing each other in passing. And they come from everywhere, from the Caribbean, Europe, Mexico, Costa Rica, Japan, Congo, the United States, India, Israel, Australia, China, and everywhere. But the origin does not matter. Because everyone recognizes that ancient song heard inside, that is calling the children back to the fair in the park, to the party of being truly human again, to Be again.

Yes, words separate us, but the silence that grows within us brings us closer.

Deep down, the incessant vibration of existence reverberates in every atom, in every being. And this ancient song echoes with itself, bouncing against the infinite surfaces and labyrinths of its imagination and everything sings in wonder before the exuberance of the unparalleled beauty of the firmament. And planets, comets, and suns burst into a deafening galactic symphony, buzzing with happiness.

Electrons and all their families sing, jumping orbitals at infinitesimal concerts of energy. Life sings in shapes and colors, instincts and breaths, geese squawk, birds chirp, beasts roar, wolves howl, at the moon in the meadows, and women and men sing, in words, tunes, poems, explanations, descriptions, mathematics, loves, and longings.

They talk, they sing talking, they think singing, they dream singing, songs that echo the first song. And we go singing and dancing, without knowing that our rhythm of words and movement is the reflection of that ancient first song, which existence sung, in celebration of the felt being. Cataracts of sounds, emitted in heat and form, in wave disturbance, praising the miracle of being and the joy of knowing, of knowing that we are the song of the ant and the nightingale, of the planet and the volcano.

A song of words, articulated to celebrate silence. Words, shapes, rhythms to channel the cosmic explosions, which come from our souls, through joys, dances, laughter, and praise, in our games. When we know who we really are, we stop talking and just hold hands, like children in circles, and sing, maddened with joy.

When we become humble, we will sing that Song again, like the birds and the breeze, we will sing in harmony with the silence, and we will be in communion with the amazing and fragile din of the innocence and oneness of all life. When we are humble, our words will be silent, even if we speak, and they will make sense and have to do with love, the Ancient song of all time.

Then we saw each other,
and we fell through the eyes of others,
assembled by so many brushstrokes,
and we drowned in the music of our voices,
and remembered the joy of a blossoming smile.
And we stopped thinking; words frozen at a point of calm.
And we remained enraptured, in enchanted inner spaces,
reflecting the tenderness of moonlight.