BEING HELD

Posted by on Dec 9, 2015 in Blog | No Comments

we all of us wish to be held. hafiz has this poem that essentially says, why don’t you be the one person with BIG MOON EYES who sees the other person and says, “you matter.”

here it is:

With That Moon Language

Admit something: Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”

Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops.

Still though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect. Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye that is always saying, with that sweet moon language, What every other eye in this world is dying to hear?

-Hafiz

reflecting on the desire to be held–how we hold each other in word, touch, presence.

furthermore, how the forest reaches out and touches me, when i place myself in it.

how a time-out, from desks and fluorescent lights, holds me.

how an escape from anything electronic, puts my mind at rest.

i think life is a series of exposures and retreats. we expose ourselves to the clatter of noise and effort that comes with working and surviving. we end up bruised and overwrought. the retreat is a place to soothe and heal. in that space, the “plan” is removed. the soul moves about, or simply sleeps—giddy again, for rest. we await. we may tingle.

presence. sex. meditation. a walk.

a brush of a fingertip across your shoulder.

a kind sentence.

with sex—not simply the sexual act of arousal or intense stimulation. it’s the closeness and the forgetting of the day. it’s the light fur on your upper that your lover traces.

reflecting on how we bring HELD-ness into our lives. what our eyes behold. how we touch others. how the forest holds us. how we hold ourselves–we grant gentleness of mind, we give permission to take a time out.  how with our partners, we trace a shoulder, or press a thumb firmly into the arch of a foot. how we laugh, and grace bubbles up–i am a child, again. how looking at the night sky, stars come out and say your name.

being held in the forest. i wind down the gravel path in shelvin, approaching flashing aspens. a cascade of yellow waves above. a campfire scent clings to the air. i look up. the sky is a molten grey. clouds stretch out like pillows. i feel a lid come off my heart. i can breath. i stretch my neck waaaaaaaaaaay back—i go even further than is initially comfortable. i need to take this in.

i, the animal—who has been kept in, too long—i am out.

i’ve come home.

 

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