Moving On

The grip is strong. All pores close up and close in. The sensation is that of insignificance and small existence. No word can be uttered. No sentence composed or thought expressed. Just the strong urge to hide. Somewhere far away. Perhaps the Himalayas. They say there is wisdom there. Something that could be of great utility at such a moment. Receptivity has been put on hold while old patterns have returned. Those tracks are deep. Only partly broken up. While all the turmoil is bubbling and hissing, the blissful scent of mother nature begs to be noticed. The jumping of ship from then to now and back to the past is rather exhausting. Armies of cells have long lost their steam. They are looking for the finish line. And yet, the tiniest of viruses causes havoc in the entire system. The time to slide out of the grip has come, if only breath would move and loosen the afflicted. Reaching to the outside as a key to opening the inside. Setting down the shield, revealing the frightened mover of the experience. It's time for it to dissolve into the vastness that holds it dear, for it seemed to have forgotten its place, its strength, its freedom. The pendulum is there to be grabbed. Swinging back and forth until stillness is what's known. Oh, it's so quiet here, and this is the place the seed may finally grow.