[An Ode To The Before]

I can feel all of you, like pieces of myself I know exist, but I can't see. You don't have faces or voices, only stares that seem to take in everything about me. From the high cheekbones to the dirty blonde hair fading into a light brunette by the day. There's a smile on your face, an amused head tilt accompanying it. You point toward the everlasting fields of flowers, ushering me forward, showing me how to run with grace and strength through the meadows and banks.
You call out to me, pointing out the small group of men holding bows and their quivers. Then you wave as they greet you back, calling out words and phrases I can't fully understand but long to know like my own heart beat. They hurry away, disappearing into the tall stalks of grass and into the forests and mountains that lay behind. You take my hand and let something cold and sharp graze along my skin. It's a black arrowhead, meticulously chipped to a sharp point. I stare at its shape, wondering who had made it and why I had been the one to find it.
I'm being led again, deeper into the plains and into a small village of beautifully created tents and fireplaces. There are women here, crushing stalks of herbs and grinding them into a fine dust. It will be used as medicine and treatment. I smile at them, and they grin with such warmth that I feel bewildered that a stranger could be so kind to me. But then you shake your head, reminding me that you are not strangers, you are the legacy I hold within me. You smile one last time, the tour closing to an end. I frown, I don't want to leave. I feel at home and safe here. There's more talking, phrases and sounds I crave to understand. As quick as it started, I am no longer with the strangers that I felt I knew.

I am with Moses and John, not those from the Bible but those from my family tree. They are laughing and...