There is a thin film over my feeling self to keep me from my own depths. The benefit is a split-second of stillness so small I have to sense my breath to notice. The subtle change in rhythm. The modicum of a drop in my own gravity, evident in my shoulders. I cannot grab the fraction of stillness to hold on to because my hands are too weak from burning arms trying to hang from dreams for too long. So now the moment comes, and then it is gone, like a million little deaths in a row. A flutter of wings from my own soul flying off far away from any semblance of sinking. The rise of a breath and the inevitable descent. Stillness waits for the pause on the other side of polarities, in a place with nowhere left to fall and only room to fly. ©2023, Sheya Forest
The Little Distance
Acceptance, Biology, Cycles, death, depression, Endings, Essential, freeverse, Meditation, New Beginnings, Overcoming, Poetry, Sky, surrender, Transformation, Transition, wind, winter
I wrote my first story when I was a wee girl of three, followed by my first poem when I was eight. I’ve been writing ever since as a way to cope with life. This practice evolved with learning in both structured settings and through the practice, itself. In my own healing crisis, I found a process I affectionately refer to as Poetic Alchemy. Now on the journey of getting my life back, I do this not only for myself but for you.