THE BREAKING YONDER
Alone in the back of the breaking yonder,
Where pines bend and grass curls and
Water hardens in the sun,
Left there to toughen or die,
The rocks too hard for weary heads,
The night too black for swollen eyes.
Bring me a bucket of stars for my journey,
Leave me a trail of wind to follow home.
Walk with me until I safely pass the desert,
Freed from the winding of the tale.
See the cracks there in the sky?
They point the way, but carry warnings:
Hurry home before mountains collapse,
And the breaking yonder swallows you whole.
Scatter your stars and gather the wind,
As you scramble through the dense and dark.
Hurry home, bringing the news of the wild,
And bravely sing us your song for the lost.
The last two weeks of this month have felt endless, and at times, unbearable. I wasn’t sure, some nights, whether I would make it back to my life, whether my life would be recognizable if I did. The familiar was crumbling under my feet as I scrambled to find a solid path to follow. Everything I grasped dissolved in my hands, leaving me nothing to hold onto for comfort, and nothing to light my way. I don’t have a strong faith anymore, though I want to believe in Something bigger than myself: God? Spirit? Divine Intelligence? Ancient Aliens? None seemed present in the darkness this time. What song will I sing of this time in my life when I look back on my journey?