The Distance Back to Myself

is the breadth of a butterfly wing.

As close as a single breath,
halting, hovering, hailing
me into presence.

Impossibly delicate,
dancing with my dreams,
mirroring my power,
unraveling life’s orderly seams
with the golden hue of a sunflower.

                                   The distance back to myself

is as far as the force of my fears
furrowing the floor of my heart,
crashing down on my ears,
drowning out my knowing,
pleading for an escape from pain.

A split second. A choice.

Close the computer.
Light a candle. Open my journal.
Listen to the calling of my heart.

Or follow the endless threads
down the rabbit hole of distractions,
mindlessly plugging into algorithms
sucking my soul of its aliveness,
all so I don’t feel the tremors of
living.

My liberation lies in the balance.

Hand hesitates, suspended in space
for a split second.

Which will it be?

 

© Jenny Brav