Wolf Fur

Wolf Fur by Heidi Hanson

Be very still

like a cat

waiting on a mouse,

like the snow blanketing

at dawn.

Quieting.

Breathing.

Allow the cords of pain writhing

to stop, to yawn, to gaze at shadows dancing on a safe child’s ceiling;

allow the panicked what-ifs squeezing your mind

to hold teacups instead

and to contemplate the

steam rising into the air, in a quaint café on the corner of here and here,

now and now,

and draw finger circles on the window.

Still the thoughts

in the midst of their

gripping certainties

their clutching, heart-stopping

march of tears; still them even as the

flags of terror are snapping

in whirlwinds of cacophony.

Be with one muscle.

Be with the bracing intestines;

Be with the heart so lost but beating the rhythm of life

nonetheless.

Be with the tiniest muscle you can find.

Quiet the lies fountaining forth an endless sermon of doubt,

nightmares

upon nightmares

churning stomach

black boxes

of twisted code tumbling from unholy heavens.

Open all the boxes.

Throw their contents into the humming heart of your cultivated presence;

ask the one-who-stands-with you always;

ask the tree whispers falling around you;

ask the small leaves glistening, finding you;

ask the wolf radiating the fierce heat of the center of your heart through its fur;

ask them to hold your entire experience, every moment.

via : New-Synapse.com