Tenuous thread moving through the eye of the needle meant for me. For the hole in my blue jeans, a small spot not as strong, more compressed, feeling the pressure so much more than the rest of her sisters, those fibers and threads woven tightly together til the weight was too great and a kneel gave way to a widening chasm torn asunder.

‘I can help you mend it’, come the gentle words from my mother. On my own I don’t quite know just how I’d sew it shut. Jeans must come off, wrenched inside-out. Deft strokes follow, back and forth: armed with courage, built up by love, kissed with kindness. Slowly the hole becomes smaller, before it disappears. But still it must be treated gently, more tenderly.

Sometimes the mind is like blue jeans.

Stillness, sigh.
Oh that my longing could be
contained in a word.
Would the word be too heavy to hold?

Maybe by I…but by We?

My singular strength being weak,
sometimes completely deplete-ted,
So would your You
be enough
for me too?

The sun, it calms
my heart
and soothes my tender mind,
as I sit and soak
the rays into
my skin.
Like a plant, I’m addicted,
convicted by,
and bound
to the photosynthesis,
all the premises
of my life bent
on one job:
Converting light energy
carefully
to chemical energy,
like mitochondria
but with the sun.

Air fills lungs, as breath comes deep.
Sweet oxygen for a moment replacing my need for sleep.
Loud minds, louder than a thousand out-loud voices
condemning my choices in the day-to-day.

Stop!

Stillness…sigh…

I feel. Hear nothing.

This is what Earth feels like: cool and wet,
letting my back sink into it, my hair unkempt.
Sloppy kiss of affirmation,
that all my fears and consternation matter not.

This is what Sun feels like: warm and wise,
placing a kiss on my tired eyes. ‘Be still’, she says…
just like her Maker.
A Giver, not a Taker.
Warm love, exposing light.

Here I lie.

On the Earth and in the Sun.

Still. Silent. Sigh.

Listening.