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April 24, 2017

Earthquake. {A Poem on Meditation}

All that is human,
raw,
electric melody emotion flowing…

Waves of adrenaline crash through my body,
my soul falls to its knees, wincing.

I try to center,
stabilize,
come back to myself,
come home.

Steady as falling rock,
trembling,
I remember what lost feels like.

When does the wind start blowing?
When I feel it lift my skin?
When it takes away the ground?

Unsteady…

When does light turn to spark because the fire has to burn?

I close my eyes—
blood heavy, manic through my veins,
my body shakes in little vibrating jolts that I stifle,
and try to keep calm.

I’m soothed as I breathe in,
breathe out,
breathe in,
breathe out.

I hold myself there,
in the fear.

I sit.

It stares at me,
haunting me,
consuming me.

I stay—
I want to run, but I stay.

Listening,
feeling,
pushing it around,
struggling…

The only way out is through.

It tries to swallow me,
pulling me down
like quicksand, a dirty tango.

My heart settles into fear,
and I open.

My body softens in silence…

I bow into the space where fear is alive,
burning, pulsing—
shaking my core, my truth,
telling me to run,
pass go,
grab the 200 dollars,
and bolt—fast as f*ck.
Run, bitch,
hide.

Get the f*ck out of your stupid, pulsing heart—
for she is weak.

Seek shelter before the storm hits and buries you.

Palms up, yearning—
my heart calls to the moon,
begging for its strength,
its light.

Enter me, moon—
pry me open,
seep in,
course through my veins.

F*ck off, fear—
let the light find you squinting at its power.

I surrender,
remembering how it’s brought me to my knees before,
shattering.

I open…

Soaking up every last morsel of fear,
sadness,
loss.

Hating it,
loving it,
a painful joy that reminds me
I’m alive in this body…

With something to lose,
to cherish,
to live for,
to love.

The pain softens with each pulse—
the air in my chest lighter.

I feel myself centering,
balancing,
brighter,
more alive than before.

I feel the universe slow me down,
shine into me,
pick me up,
and put me on its shoulders.

It’s the journey that shapes the soul.
Trust,
feel,
repeat.

I open…

Then, I feel it—
the breeze,
hot and silky…

And it feels so f*cking beautiful
to be carried by the wind.

 

~

Author: Liz Brenna
Image: Flickr/Hldrmn
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina

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Liz Brenna