During this mornings hike up Green Mountain, my ears were greeted by the exquisite cacophony of insect and bird song, a symphony in the early hours just after daybreak. I walked the trail alone, save my eager four-legged companion, amidst an array of wildflowers bending gracefully in an early dance with the breeze, and thought "What a strange gift it is to be human". We who look out through a pin-hole of perception, imagining ourselves separate from the tapestry of life, like some strand hovering above the surface, unwoven in warp or weft. The irony is apparent the instant our consciousness takes a vertical leap and we exercise our capacity to see, without looking, the mysterious splendor of life witnessing life. This being human. This self identity so fully rooted in body, mind and emotion, rarely asking the important questions: "How can I be both subject and object?" "How can I be aware of a sensory perception, if that is what I am?" "If I a