I used to go digging
poking and prodding
into the human psyche.
That was before
I knew how much
she doesn’t like to be forced.
Now I prepare
a safe, warm and inviting
space for her.
I bow at her feet
in reverence to the
mysteries she holds.
I listen to the
quiet whisper of
unspoken words.
Loud and bold
defences set in place
so long ago.
Tender places
perhaps a single sacred
teardrop.
I allow her to
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 the
folds of her body.
A slight turning
away that speaks
of shame.
Shaking
heart quaking
fear.
Innocent
hidden wisdom
5 years old.
Silent screams
night terrors
clinging.
Frozen parts
just waiting
to thaw.
A deer
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 magical
and organic unfolding
of her own nature.
Without pressure
or the censor
of too many words.
She is the guest
of honour in the
Benevolent space of Now.
© Candace Kirby