The night sky, clad in star light, stepped forth.
Reached out with inky hands. "Be Still my child."
My discomfort, my resistance to comply,
a source of amusement to the infinite sky.
"You are a child of the divine, be still,
observe the seasons passing by.
Everything that lives, dies in time."
The wheel of life lifts and spins
and draws me in to timeless weaving.
Warp and tack, there and back.
Seasons turn too fast to track,
yet each day is a new beginning
born from the centre.
A spark is lit, a flame at my feet,
spins a fire hurricane,
burns my flesh til nothing remains.
"Be Still my child" he says again.
"But how? " I cry.
"Can I be still when fire rages, and war blazes,
I can see the grief on people's faces
while a planet dies."
"This time is for being,
for living and breathing,
not seething in rage. So be still."
And there in the eye of a fire,
no space, no movement. Divine sent,
I find once more, my core, my strength.
The breath of life from earth,
through me and back to the sky.
Together, we sigh.
Like snowdrop spears break through the ice, before their heads can bow in prayer.
It is there. Stillness.
Nothing is like it was before,
and sword drawn, I step into the dawn.
Lisa Goodwin