I used to go digging
poking and prodding
into the human psyche.
That was beforeÂ
I knew how much
she doesn’t like to be forced.
Now I prepareÂ
a safe, warm and invitingÂ
space for her.
I bow at her feet
in reverence to theÂ
mysteries she holds.
I listen to theÂ
quiet whisper ofÂ
unspoken words.
Loud and bold
defences set in place
so long ago.
Tender places
perhaps a single sacredÂ
teardrop.
I allow her toÂ
crawl into my lap
and curl up tight.
She speaks to me
in images
too painful to bear.
In sensations
that often have no words
just a gasp
Clenched fists
clenched jaw
I can’t.
Secrets held
deeply in theÂ
folds of her body.
A slight turning
away that speaksÂ
of shame.
ShakingÂ
heart quaking
fear.
Innocent
hidden wisdom
5 years old.
Silent screams
night terrors
clinging.
Frozen parts
just waiting
to thaw.
A deerÂ
in the headlights
fixed gaze.
Aching bones
traumatized brains
and exhaustion.
Grown up masks
used to cover
a fractured psyche.
And mercy.
The precious exhale of being invited
to be here.
In the magicalÂ
and organic unfolding
of her own nature.
Without pressure
or the censor
of too many words.
She is the guestÂ
of honour in the
Benevolent space of Now.
© Candace Kirby