Like Feathers

Where do you go?
When you sit very still,
So still you feel the earth moving,
Your eyes closed,
Specks of light dancing
On the backdrop of your eyelids.
When you can feel your body creak
And groan like an old tree,
Pained and achy in certain spots
Light and tingling in others.
Where do you go,
When the external noises fade
And become your breath,
Methodical, primeval, comforting.




I go to the edge of a cliff, nothing but mist before me.
It's the same cliff, perhaps, that I dreamed of once.
I was a child, being chased through the jungle by some wild animal,
Running, fumbling, past green trees and flowering plants,
Colors rushing at me like darts.
Until suddenly, the jungle stopped.
The trees stood in a line behind me,
A wall of solemn soldiers.
In front of me, a precipice.
The rugged edge of a slate gray cliff.
No longer was anything chasing me.
Lungs swollen with hot breath,
Limbs alive and pulsing,
There was no thought of choice -- I simply knew.
I had to jump.
Someone was there with me.
I'm not sure who, but I know it was a girl, like me.
She reached out her hand, told me not to be afraid.
We jumped together, falling through the fog.
When we reached the ground
We landed softly,
Like feathers,
Our bare feet on the wet grass.

Where do you go,
When everything is silent,
When the world is too much with you?