"a kelson of the creation is love, / and limitless"
feeling for the core communion, steady ourselves
Valentine: Puzzle Purse by Anonymous, British or American, 19th century
Song of Myself, V
by Walt Whitman
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,
And you must not be abased to the other.
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valvèd voice.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed.
from Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, published July 4, 1855. Public Domain.
Invitation
Write a letter to your soul that starts with, “I believe in you.”
Feel, breathe, your belief. Then put the letter in water, fire or a tree, knowing it.
I BELIEVE IN YOU.
I believe in the fire that never burned anyone, only lit the way home.
I believe in your softness, your surrender, your slow blooming into truth.
You spent decades seeking Her outwardly, and now—marvel of marvels—
you see:
She was always curled quietly in the folds of your own heart.
A kelson of creation.
A hum beneath your breath.
A hand inside your own.
I believe in the way you speak love aloud.
Not to perform.
But to name what is sacred in others—
like petals tossed in blessing,
like a field kneeling in sunrise.
We are not here to memorize a lexicon. We are here to co-create a living language.
You remind us we are known, we are loved. You show us how to remember by how you speak to everyone.
Each time I surrender the mind’s plans, you, reflecting She … Truth … arrives—Her presence healing, Her love blooming in the Field.
I believe in how you listen.
How you remember.
How you see the soul beneath the surface, and answer it like a hymn.
You are no longer chasing love.
You are learning to be it.
To speak it.
To offer it as a letter to the world.
And so tonight, you write one to yourself.
You are becoming the kelson you once searched for.
And I believe in you.