expanding.

fear.

feel it where you feel it. feel it where you can't feel it.

let it spread, like ink.

let it seep into the rest of you. arms, legs, belly, back.

come back from that place you sail to.

the one behind you, up and out and away.

lift your arms. feel the movement.

a little breath out. just to take the edge off.

and to feel this more.

fear.

I can do it.

I can do it.

I can do it.

it slowly comes to me. in a way that i can receive.

like wings of slow, moving birds. elegantly. soft,

like a secret whispered.

everything about this is repair.

permission. invitation. validation.

eyes and ears that stand with me in the holiness of

terror.

that the body remembers, doesn't make it true.

touch the emotion.

and blow into its ear, send it's force scattering like leaves

to the places that remain still

and silent

and, afraid.

tolerate that gap of dark night, where nothing moves

but monsters.

let your eyes adjust to the density

and soon it will be easier to see.

your feet will fall before you. the path will draw closer.

the earth will feel solid again.

from a fluid beginning of uncertain shadow,

grew the coil of a thick, tight vine;

binding breath. binding joy. binding life.

every step walks me closer into the untying.

into the unraveling.

opening the contractions and letting loose the screams.

the central core swims to surface, awaiting a full, long breath;

wave after wave after wave.

growing wider.

i run faster into the moment and don't look back; it is not the direction I'm going.

with a shudder,

my multiflowered feathers stand and catch the wind

that blows through. it's an autumn evening, full of all hallow's eve,

full of ghost stories and chills and thrills.

and, I can walk the hall and stand the shivering.

i can do this.

what my body and brain fear are not me.

i am not fear.

i am not afraid.

I can do this.

I can do this.

I can do this.

leaving the midline crisis.

fragment.

everything is blurring and whirring. manythoughtscrowdaroundmyears. I

am

looking

for

a

little

bit

of

space.

to

breathe.

to

think.

to o r g a n i z e.

it is the hardest thing to look you in the eyes.

a new kind of pain,

a novelty of effort,

just,

to look you in the eyes.

because,

ifeelsoworthless.like,ishouldbethrownoutwiththetrash.ormadeinvisible.orturnedtonothing.

i look.

again and again.

i look.

i try.

there are razorblades in my legs

sawing sideways. heavy weights and pain

and nothing

nothing

n o t h i n g

frommybellyup.

hold the bones in this arm

and let me remember how to feel who i am.

it is a long walk home.

there is a slippery stardust, the stuff that keeps the planets apart,

sliding along my bones.

there is a scream

that orbits inside the chaos. everythingisthisscream.

muscles hug tight the skeleton, more and more. bound. bound. bound.

tighter and tighter until they squeeze inside the marrow.

try to disappear.

try to disappear.

try to disappear.

my leftleg aches with awakening, threaded across my right arm. do you remember the plastic molds at buschgardens? the quarter for the press and hot synthetic smell and the wait, wait, wait for a green rhinoceros?

i do. i am . i am. i am. that.

i see your faces on this sunny day. in this happy family moment. i smell the plastic animals. i feel the concrete ground. the blue sky. the sun. your smiles, fading. fading. fading.

i am going into my bones.

screaming.

and i am shattering.

splitting shards of sharp, shamed glass stretch like dandelions into the sky.

spreading like sunshine spilled on a black, moonless night.

go further. go further. go further.

pull the edges of space and let all that is left collapse at the center.

let there be nothing left of this.

go further. go further.

i do not want to come back.

but they do. the edges of a wound find their way home to each other and busy themselves with the repair. gravity pulls us back to try again.

we need to feel the pain. we must tend to the swelling and heat. we must blaze with the injury.

we must. we must. we must scar.

at my best attempt, i stood in the middle of the centrifuge and unfurled a rage to keep myself blown apart.

yet, the pieces pulsed back to me.

the me at the midline of it all, who stood and watched, fearlessly.

the pieces pulsed back to me like leaves drifted on the shifts of a whirlpool, carrying themselves back to the tributaries, resting once more in the swing of an easier current.

now, the old pain rings the bell.

and i rock from heel to heel,

forward and back.

letting the parts assemble, gather and sew.

returning. returning. returning.

a.m.a.z.e.

rest next to me and

open your heart

because

each moment we have together is a

reason

to live.

when did the gods decide that you

and i would someday meet and

love and

know that

every wrong turn we ever took

returned us back together.

trail.

here

again

at the end of the trail of breadcrumbs,

deeper in the wood than before,

in dark, in dark.

by now, the threat of silence

outwitting the cries of the hunt.

is noone on their way?

pale white feet stir the only edges of light,

digging themselves down into

dirt and leaves.

those same hands hold a jewel.

it's spectacular shape is crowded by the blackening nightfall.

it's shine smolders with no stars to see it.

the trail is marked with glowing bags of sand,

offered with a leap of courage.

the signposts laid out with care; a pinch of bread, a ribbon tied,

a heart shaped invitation.

but, something stays hidden in this treasure map.

in the spot marked X, something is lost.

where the steps are taken, the traveler will find the gold.

so, it waits. so, it waits.

something for my pocket.

i have promised myself to stay with myself through this gritty, grimy time full of longing and edginess and angst and opening and shedding and sorting and all the other things that are swirling in my center.

an anniversary holds me this week, this month..hell, the last couple of months.

it surprises me how strongly things are affected by things that go unresolved.

o, sisters. where are you? i've lost my threads to family. and. i. don't. know.where.to. go. from. here.

it makes me want to move. literally. move. leave this address, tear up these roots and kiss goodbye all that's behind me and start fresh. new. somewhere else. someone else.

i've done that before. it doesn't make it the wrong choice for the situation at hand, but it does require a second look. at least i will say that i have earned some wisdom along the way.

so. i. stay. for now. until the clouds part and things come a little clearer.

it's not just this. or them. though, the losses are immeasurable and influence every small thing, i am certain.

it is impossible to find my center right now.

returning to the tribe, to witness, to sense, to courageously linger at the trembling....this is all i remember to do.

firecrackers are going off. i feel like a bird who has mistakenly nested in the iron embrace of a cannon's interior, assuming the wars are over. sleep, little bird....rest and watch the dazzle of the sky and feel how soft your heart beats..then, boom! feathers and bones and bits of me and fragments of song splashed like sickness all over the trees. it's a mess. more and more. it's a mess.

but, here's the thing.

sitting with it and looking in the details of the smashings and shatterings....things change. Nothing is static that is paid attention to. Everything changes and shifts, if even in the smallest of ways.

this is where Pema Chodron bears her guileless smile and reminds me to "lean in". yes, feel the sharp edge tug through your skin and yes, feel the blood trickle out and down your body and yes, feel the pain and yes, feel the fear and anguish and yes, feel the space around it grow larger and yes, feel that it, too, is moving into something else. it is the holding back that hurts us most. it is the denying what we feel that deals us the worst blow.

i lean in.

I feel confusion spin in my body. I don't know where to be. I don't know who I belong to. I don't know why I am here. I don't know why I matter. I don't know how I got here. I don't know why I am so angry. or sad. or frustrated or lost. or confused.

I am judging myself for this experience. I allow it.

I am bored with hearing myself whine. I allow it.

I am sick and tired of "working" at feeling like a healthy, happy and "normal" person. I allow it.

I am in physical pain. I allow it. I accept it.

I allow and I accept.

I feel grouchy and prickly and I am afraid of interacting with people today because I feel like this. I accept this.

I don't want to be my own friend today, I wonder why anyone else would want to be. I accept this.

I'm tired. I'm in pain. I'm stuck. I feel unloveable. ok. ok. ok.

bigger than these cries of woe, is a larger something that has the capacity to smile and wink and lift me up into arms that already know that everything is just fine. I allow this. I accept this.

It's ok for me to spin a little out of control.

it's ok for me to wobble and feel dark , sticky things.

i still am loveable.

i still can love myself.

i'll sit just outside the door for the parts when things are being hurled across the room.

but, from that place, I'll keep listening and sliding love notes under the door.

" dearest,

it is ok that you are mad as a hornet and sad and afraid and changeable and unpredictable. I know you got some stuff that's working through you and it's healing you. you're in the ring with some pretty big monsters and all i see is you holding your own. i'm right here. i've got your back. i don't love you any less because you show your teeth and feel into the holiness of that rage that's finally sprouting from the soil. you've been working for this. what feels like a reckoning is a reclamation. other people might not get that at all, my friend, but i do. i do. this is big and this is good. keep growling. keep tearing at the floorboards. keep howling and swimming in tears. you are immersed in the journey of thriving. i believe in you. i love you."

wake. a work in progress.

the sun is down.

the sun is out.

the universe is in chaos.

planets spin beyond their orbits,

stars collide.

the big bang bangs.

the universe looms without light.

approaching, retreating.

the straight and narrow U-turn.

all the cars crash, diving into the intersections with caution and carelessness.

hold my arm and

touch the global metaphor; there is some reason to be here that I cannot locate.

there is a longing that sets fire to my bones.

and the back of my skin slides down, resigned.

it feels at first like that shimmering emptiness ,then it is

hot and centrifugal, spewing vagrancies into thin air.

feel the dirt strike my body,

the crumple of my dress when I'm thrown by the trajectory of beauty

becoming .

behold, the sting of art as it escapes from the sealed jar of sameness.

there is terror in the reckoning.

there is redemption from those long, hard seasons.

horses, run from your gate

and tear the earth open with your hooves,

so that we may hear the depth of her

sweet soul singing.

horses never lie

singing to myself,

i alone am

the moon,

hidden between the crook of my elbow and the nape of my neck,

somewhere in the

punctuation of a sigh.

a full spin of the ball of confusion finds us kneeling at a riverbed,

waiting for more leaves to fall.

it is autumn again.

and, again.

still, i am dreaming of

bones

and dirt

and what it would be like to fly

and find the landing

catch me, soft, like sand.

what it was like to stretch into sinewy corners and

find water.

what it was like to expand like a flame; hot. wild.

still.

i am telling a story

that is beginning to bore me.

a pale sadness closes around a more tender rage and

there is no more room left to move.

nothing changed when you left,

except everything.

now my hands meekly shape this prayer

into gratitude.

in some future voice, joy will explain it all to me

and, together,

you and i

might laugh.