No. It’s not this again.

Not what you think it is.

This time, are you ready

To sit here, on the rock

And breathe?
If, as you sit

You see a thought, a judgement

That shocks or shames 

Please, wait. Breathe.
What a sign of trust it is

When the most frightened part,

The most hurt place,

Reveals itself in the best language

The only language

It knows.
What a gift it is

To be offered a glimpse, a fragment

Of the stories, the certainties

The terrors

It’s held. 
See them? Hear them?

Then, celebrate,

This is their feint willingness

To be released.
But only, only

In a certain quality of presence.
Like a goldfish darting up to sunlight

Before shooting back into the black brack

So too is the life

Waiting to be welcomed.
Oh, she wants our safety.

And she will trust nothing

But humility.

Prove, sit, breathe, prove

You can be trusted not to trample,

Not to disdain, dismiss, despair;

Not to reject, recoil or resist.
Oh what work she’s doing.

Has done.
Long before words were given to your body

She was battling



For this life

You have 

You survived.

And yes, now

You want to thrive.
But first


What she does.


What she’s seen.
Only your own tenderness

Will dissolve the scales.
So you have a light you want to shine?

Is it warm? Dappled? Languid?

Breathe until it is.
Open bulbed, perpacious, utterly gentle

And willing to let

What is


As it already is.
Only your own tenderness

Supreme patience

And benign wonder

Will be permitted.
No one else can meet her.

Only you. For yourself.
And if you sit beside that pond

For a hundred circuits and a thousand ripples

Waiting for a release


You will see

It is not this again.
Sit. Because she won’t come running

After you. 
You want her power? That place beyond words

Beyond judgement?

That wounded, wild, wonderful place

She keeps guard for you?

Well then, 

Sit. Breathe. Prove

You’ve learned compassion.

She won’t believe your words.

Only your gentle, unhurried, warm attention.

Only your unconditional loyalty

Demonstrated in the small stuff.

Earned in how you speak to her

When she breaks a plate or mistypes a word.

Earned in how you speak to her

When she says things she regrets.

Earned in how you speak to her

When she eats what isn’t wise.
She’s waiting, willing to have a little hope

That you’ve learned enough compassion

She dares not trust you

yet knows she must

If you, we, me

Are to thrive.
So, if you’re lucky

She’ll try again to be seen

To be heard

To be felt

By you.

The only one

Who can.
So, let her speak

Her stories and beliefs.

You’re blessed.

She doesn’t share these

With anyone

Outside this body.
She trusts you

To hear 

What her heart 

Really means.
You will recognise her.

You are already One.

(Just not the One

You think

You are

Or the One

You think

You should be.)
You are already pond and shade

And she already sun and breath.

You are already One.