Open

It’s all open and my heart aches. To be left alone, led by a carrot on a string, a donkey in search of food. Hungry and yearning. Starving. Dropped off the cliff. Abandoned. A pattern? Must the donkey simply starve or not trust masters who lead him? Must the donkey keep trying? What if there’s a full field of carrots, of beans and Brussels sprouts. Melons and squash and sprouts. Apple trees and a Golden Gate. Is it a mirage in the desert? A mule worked to the bone, tired and weary, not knowing what to trust. I feel you on the other side. You feel me distant and drifting. Afraid and unknowing. Wanting to cry, wanting to hide. Not knowing if I can trust what I see before me. For it may all be another deception.

Do I trust? Do I listen into the music? The pounding and the shredding and the loud banging. The noise to drive out the pain. The uncertainty. Can a mule who has worked itself near death die once it reaches the gates? Heaven or no, a field of feasts forever, or a beautiful illusion. I hide behind words and I fear stepping on a flower or a clover, not wanting to take from them their life through my reckless footwork. Will I harm the innocent with my necessity or will I die, broken and unsure and scattered.

I walk down the street and I remind myself that I have myself always. Preparing for rejection. My heart is on my sleeve again yet I do not seem to trust my eyes. Wet hair and fog in the air we find comfort together. Unsure, unsteady. Wobbly legs, shaky words.

I do not know.

I simply do not know.

How can I trust? Do I put my eggs in the basket and let it go? The one that you have built for me within a song to keep me alive. I beat around the bush. I run from the bush. I hide within the weeds. I try and I try and I try to get away from the fear of the broken heart. The shattering, the scattering that I wrote and begged for. To be put back together again.

How are you? Truly, deeply. I need to know. It breaks me inside. And I know that I will be okay. I can endure. I can get to the other side. I can. I can go through the valley and up the next mountain.

The prairie asks me to rest. To eat, to refill, to lay down, to rest. To receive all the fruit that has grown. Long ago somewhere I planted the seeds. I fought tooth and nail to find my way back. Through dessert and death and raging rivers. Through emptiness and hollowness and despair. I’ve made my way back. A lone mule finally fed.

-

I rest my head down. It may all disappear. That would be okay. It will always be okay. I will always be okay. I rest my head down and I weep.

I rest and I let it all be felt. I am home. I have made it back home. I have made it back home. Through thicket and thorns, through fear and sorrow and treachery. I have made it home. I have built this home, and it will stand. Unless flood or quake comes, it will stand for some time. It will remain. It will stay and in this field I can remain.

Even if I don’t believe it or trust what I see, I have made it. I lay myself down underneath a linden tree. It is strong and at the center of the field. This is all that I have. This is all that I need. I lay down, I weep myself to sleep. And here I know that I am okay. I am okay. I am okay.

Darkness envelops me and holds me here in the womb of your depths. Hold me until I remember. Hold me until I breathe with ease again. Hold me until I no longer fear the road behind, and instead relax into all that is. Hold me here and do not let me go until I am ready to dance again. To sing with the birds again. To listen to the rivers’ laughter and the reeds sway. Hold me until I laugh with bright eyes and generosity. Hold me as the tears upon my skin heal over. Until the scars become only a memory, until the fragments of my soul are sewn back together with threads of pure gold. Hold me as I heal, as I let go, as I fall back into myself, finally and fully this time.

Hold me, great mother, as I rejoice again. As I dream again, as I cry and play again. Hold me as my innocence lives through me. As I trust in you again.

Hold me as I trust in you again.

Hold me as I trust.

Hold me as I let go.

Hold me and do not let me go.

I am yours, and you are mine, and I am nothing and no one and I am everything and everyone. I am whole and I am broken. I am fragmented and I am healed. I am beautiful and I am horrific. I am terrifying and I am brilliant. I am death and I am love. I am hatred and sorrow and I am laughter and joy. I am everything and I am whole. And in this wholeness, I see clearly. I choose with ease. I choose what supports, what builds, what creates something sustainable. It has been written, sown, woven through the fates of time. It has been destined, though it is through this moment and the past and the ones to come.

Free under this linden tree. These night terrors of fear and fury no longer hold me. They have loosened their rings, and in this, I too have learned to let go.