Story of my Body

Today I sat cross-legged,
Allowing my arms and trunk
To move as they wished.
There seemed to be no theme at first,
As there often is when I give my body
Freedom to tell its own story.
Then my hands and arms,
Mind listening,
Moved as if plucking thoughts out of my head
And throwing or sowing them.
My right-hand then held a thought
And plunged it into the earth.
After this is I saw that thought
Slowly grow into beauty and light.
My hands opened up to it;
One hand held to express listening,
The other over my lips, saying,
“This cannot be spoken of.”
The hands then slowly dropped to the lap,
Open in receptiveness.