Poem // Meditation

Music: “Nine” by Nadayana (2016)

3 Journaling Prompts:

  • Imagine the release of a major burden that you’ve been carrying lately. What part(s) of your body are connected to this burden and what does it feel like to let it go? Invite your hands to that place on your body and send it some deep breaths.
  • What’s left in the space where your burden was once rooted? What is one boundary you can put into practice to keep this a safe space for you to explore?
  • Rather than allowing something else to be planted in your burden’s place, what is a way you can nourish and nurture this spaciousness throughout the rest of your day?

balance me on the tips of your fingers.
don’t let me fall.
follow my cries
so I don’t drown.

you’re beside me now,
but I can’t see you.
there’s nothing but darkness here.
when will the light return to your face?

find me.
swim through the clutter I left behind,
all those mountains I gathered to keep you
away.

the books I never read
gather dust.
my peaks crack and crumble
burying all that I have left.

I am surrounded
by the silence
of the fears I never shared.
the dreams I can’t remember.

I am lost inside,
but at least I am hidden.
from the doubts of my mind
trying to turn inside out.

I left a path
there.
just in case
I needed to find my way back.

I wasn’t looking
for you.
but when there’s nothing more to see,
I am still here longing for you.

I went.
and would have never returned
because there’s too much wrong
with me and everything.

you found me
and saw me
when I couldn’t see
even my own toes.

the sun shines on my face
and I remember
all that I need to remember.
wind breathes deep through my lungs.

past the shadows
I see.
I exist here.
and you are with me.

-E

Once

hardened by hatred
weighed down by salt.
the splendor of stillness
once foreign to me
now runs through my veins.

words will cleanse
ink will detoxify what’s left
of lives lost to the doubts of having nothing to say.

out of fear of imperfection,
I didn’t write a word
not even a single letter.
these pages are messy now,
no longer blank.

this surface isn’t meant to be silent
out of fear of ruining it.
this must be colorful and real and messy and true.

have only a fear of never beginning.
enter the cracks on the surface
and burst through
all that tells you that you can’t
all who says that you have nothing to say.

the first letter
dances
barefoot on summer soil.

your mind is a lovely place,
your body filled with wisdom.
just once
tell your story true
no matter how messy it looks.

–E