We touch the patterns, run our finger across the moments that tie us together, caress the woven fabric that we wrap our bodies in. I only pause long enough to draw in the last rays of sunlight. I will need them later, when midnight comes and I am still wrestling the alligator of words to the mat of consciousness.
I find my step is lighter if I keep my gaze at the tops of the trees as I walk. Lifting my eye lifts the load, transfers the weight from my knee to the sky. Any shape of the sky against the trees exists only at any particular moment at any exact spot on the path. I move from shape to shape, from cloud to star and back to cloud again, until I reach my little grove around the giant Black Locust.
My first exercises involve pulling my energy up and through my center and into the universe. Bringing everything as close to the stars as possible. Throwing the weight of my world into the sky. Throwing my vulnerabilities into the sky. Delivering my fears, delicately, on a giant silver platter to the welcoming stars.
Next, I grab the star’s energy out of the sky and pull it into my earthly body, through the seven chakras, flowing through each one, reaching into the root, yearning for the soil as the flower craves the sun. I release and reach again. Above me, Perseus, and to the north, Andromeda, the sky’s power couple. They give me a few grains of stardust, just for asking.
I understand that they have power. I pay them forward to the garden that made us. Add them to the humus of history. The soil turns itself into perfect rows. Seeds are delivered by a steady south wind. Life happens, My words decompose before my eyes.
To be held is the earths promise, to hold is the body’s choice. If we’re lucky, we will be delivered of both.