Sunday, March 29, 2015

Notes on Grounding

I don’t know where I stand, he says.
I massage his aged feet, 
hoping to ease the furrow in his brow.
I dream a lot of what I’ve done; where I’ve been.
He looks around. The world seems familiar but not quite.
As he talks of what was, I deepen my roots.

I want to fly away; not be trapped. I get scared.  
I hold this woman’s hands and invite her to stand.
We explore how her heels; the balls of her feet 
touch the ground. How they connect.
I invite her to breathe, to follow the exhale as it 
travels down her body.
I ask her to notice, with hands enjoined,
how it feels to experience this earth, together.

I enter the forest.
The need pulls me forward, a child seeking nurturance, 
her mother nearby. The trees open their branches and
embrace my heart.
I fill with a love that has no name.
I am home.

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