Selected excerpts from A Cosmology of Self:
These passages are not summaries. They are openings.
They move through call, witness, and return—listening for what has always been present.
What follows does not explain the journey. It listens to it.
A wind whispers in the trees.
You are here. You are here.
It is an older language that, when spoken,
calls the world to you.
They never saw
the owls waiting at the treeline,
or Ezekiel speaking through dusk,
or the way storms
take human form
when the soul is preparing
for revelation.
They only saw the lightning,
not the circuitry.
You know
because when you look left
and see an owl
flying beside your family truck—
you turn your head right
and a boy is standing there,
a boy with a loincloth,
a boy with an owl feather in his hair,
a boy you know without knowing how.
I had been moving through cloud for so long
I forgot the sky was still there.
Not gone—
waiting.
Then a cut.
Clean.
Decisive.
Something released.
I walk into the forest.
A cedar has fallen.
Red bark,
softening into soil.
I kneel.
I listen.
Her body lies quiet—
a long exhale
settled into the earth.
The complete manuscript is available for private reading.
elisteinerhamilton.com 