I hear her whisper when I finally cry,
look out of the window towards the wonder
of magpies and wood pigeons
dancing and resting in your tree
and the crows
whirling, despite the fog and rain
all the birds gathering twigs
following the pulse of the impending spring
old as time.
But, what is my work now in these times, I say?
Ah, she says, let go of the frantic planning and thinking
you will adapt quickly enough to the new landscape
but not before you let your fists relax.
Let them open, let you palms be upturned towards the wide sky
open to the new design that will settle there in time.
It cannot be forced, but I promise
it will fall like snowflakes into your palms:
a new pattern of ideas and purpose
and a deep knowing of your own unique medicine
for you to share.
But, what about the leaden fear in my chest, I say?
Dear one, she says, please stop and rest, at least for a while
and let your fear of isolation be what it is:
fear. Nor more, nor less.
And know this is not the deeper truth
not yours, nor anyone’s
for you are held always in the web of life
and all this is still here:
your pulse, your breath, the rushing of your blood
and gravity, supporting you, holding you
But what about the loneliness, I say?
Come, she says,
soften into that tender place underneath your breastbone
and lean back, lean against a cushion, lean into the ground
mostly, lean into grace
and into the helpers invisible to the eyes:
those from different realms
who are waiting for your invitation to come closer
to support you, to wrap you in their warmth
(for they are masters of consent and will not trespass
your boundaries, but patiently await your prayers)
feel the long line of your ancestors at your back
the stream of warmth and light, flowing towards you.
Ah, but what about the lonely nights?
Beloved, she says, just hear the terrors out
let them have their voice but don’t let them swallow you.
Grieve and wail and stomp if you must
do what you need to do, but then turn your back and step away
and let them be. For terror is only that:
a shadow mirage and fear-mongerer, not a truth sayer.
Beloved, she says, walk and dance,
open your window and breathe
sing across the streets
and reach out to those who welcome both
your shine and your fears
who can sit with you in the dark and lift your spirit
those who are as naked as you are.
Hold and let yourself be held more deeply than ever
if not in embraces, but still enveloped in words and looks and smiles.
Fall into your own depth, the core and centre of your being
reach out wide and weave yourself into the fabric of life
and feel yourself a unique part of the weaving.
Know yourself well
belonging right here
Eva Weaver March 20, 2020
Photo by Mor Shani on Unsplash