Anchor on the Days of Nothing

Darkness. Light. Shadows. Contour. I close my eyes. I open them and repeat. It’s the setting sun and the break of dawn inside me. This is my anchor on the days of nothing.

There is war and there is peace. There’s surrender and agency. The terrain feels tough and grainy. I am swept away by despair and agony. Am I the root, the tree or the leaf?

What do I need to stay at the center of things?

I sit out the sand storm wanting. I learn how wanting can be free. Things happen so quickly. Is it the sensation or the thing?

Darkness. Grief. Light. Birthing. I lose my identity and I’m free. It’s unbearable this lightness of being. So, I grope and find myself a root. I am the root. I am the tree. I am the leaf.

This is my anchor on the days of nothing.