Circle Dance

Once I had been a cherry tree, I remembered that now. I remembered the sounds of the birds, come north for the spring and squabling for space in my branches. I had devoured sunlight and drank in the rain, housed the birds through summer. In the fall when my fruit turned nearly black the birds that arrived in spring would gorge themselves before departing again. The snows insulated my roots through bitter winters, until spring thaw brought fresh life. That was...long ago? Now, here, I am nothing.

Hovering in the in between, or rather, hovering within, I can sense the strings that hold the world togther. A network and buzz of energy, thought, intent, desire, that holds one being to the next, to the next, to the next, to the next, to the next...I don’t know how many times I have been here before, hundreds perhaps. I have seen the world as it is meant to be, and forgotten. One is consumed, one thrives, one tumbles and decays, one sprouts form the rot. Sometimes it is a seems as a web, well ordered, strong lines arranged neatly between the beautifully geometric sprawl of sage in the desert. Sometimes it is the aurora, pulsing sweeping, swirling around humans until they colide, or warping the path of the marten through the snow till she finds an unwary squirrel. Around and round, and yet, never quite the same.

It is breathtaking.

Once, moments ago perhaps, I had been a hare, long eared and long legged. I can still feel the rapid beat of the tiny heart, pulse quivering through the muscles tense as a stretchd slingshot. At the end though, those legs had not been quick enough and the little brain to slow to escape the lynx. That dead flesh that I had been momentarily she now padded away with, leaving a scarlet stain in the snow. I can see it, feel the snap of her teeth, the satisfied knowledge that neither she nor her kits would starve this week. I do not begrudge her her meal, nor morn my death. Here, now, I am everything.

There are others here, coming and going like the birds that visited me when I was Cherry Tree. A very few stay; at some point the structure of this network becomes more intriguing than the lives it connects and they stay, watching. I am beginning to understand. I am not sure how long I remain mesmerized by the eternal dance. The humming lines and auras surround everything like a heavy cloud of midges, or a sweet perfume. Beings pop in and out of existence on this plane; thousands alight as a forest is flattened. It could be so simple to fix the world, connect that man driving the skidder to the trees he stacks casually. Perhaps just a little nudge to re-unite the quarelling lovers, or that estranged daughter. A thin thread stretched between the leaders of waring countries, or a quick line for the bone and skin polar bear to a lazy seal. It is still too alluring and at last I can watch no longer, the temptation to just shift this bundle of energy over here just so...

I reach out with my mind, extending myself into the lacework, searching, then with great concentration I try to pull on a line nearly burried in the tangle that is the jungle. In the infinitesimal second that I feel myself connect, I snap out, and back in, to conciousness. It is more jarring coming back, for a moment I remember, everything; My many lives, the deep and peaceful sensation of knowing the entire universe, and a saddness that I could not be content with the knowledge alone. You meddled. Again. This perhaps is why babies come out wailing; I know I was furious at myself, this time and all the others. But the memory fades quickly, it would be unbearable to live with, and I begin my next afterlife. Here, this time, I am human.