A Soul’s Name (original poem)

How do you learn the true name of a tree? Is it there in the rustle of leaves? Or is it there on the trunk, written in braille, embedded in the bark? Or is it deeper, within the creeks and pops of wood as it sways and grows, and the scuttle of the denizens that call it home? And what of souls? Do we each have an ancient name echoing out there amongst the stars? If we sit still enough, will we hear it in the rush of blood in our veins? If we speak it, feel the contours of it in our mouths, roll it around on our tongues, will it feel like discovery or returning to a weightless collective? If I discover my soul, surely it will lead me home. So I will listen to the echoes as if they are the most arresting melody I have ever heard. I will plug my ears to all outside noise and listen only to the rhythmic hum of this flesh. There must be more to the thrum than survival. It was the first sound we ever heard as we built our bodies cell by cell. If anything could reveal my ultimate truth, it must be the blood that flows through every inch of me and whispers continually in my ear. I learned too quickly how to tune it out, now I must learn how to listen.