reparent

Photo by Matt Hoffman

I see you there,
hiding in my shadow.
Timid and shaking.

You don’t recognize me,
do you?
That’s okay,
there is no rush.
In fact,
all we have is the seductive illusion of time.

I won’t pull you out of your shell,
leaving you vulnerable and exposed.
I will wait for you to invite me in,
and then we will dance until we find our pace.

The lesson for me,
to stay still,
even…
no….
especially when I’m moving 100 miles a second.
To look less,
to you,
for reassurance.
To settle into the shadow
and the light,
and everything in between.

I seek your consent,
yet, that is hardly enough.
Ours is a dance choreographed
by reverence.
Lifting up through the layers,
the twigs and the rings.

You’re beginning to recognize me,
a mix of hope, relief, and disbelief.
I remember you, me, us.
Your recognition feels illuminating,
and I must remain still,
for fear of chasing you off.

How can you know,
if my trap is safe?
How can you be certain,
I won’t harm you?

This is the delicate layer
that separates trust from betrayal.
We have been swirling along the lip
of rest and panic
for eons.

Trust is alignment,
a settling in,
a constant recalibration.
We vibrate,
it's what we do.
And sometimes,
we lose touch.

You’ve been wounded,
I see it in the desperation in your eyes,
aching to come home,
terrified you will be left outside,
doors locked,
no key.

You may not know if you can trust me,
and that is okay.
I remain trustworthy,
none-the-less.

And I will be here,
with you,
always.

Sometimes you will feel me,
and I will comfort you.
Sometimes you will not.
I will settle into this place,
holding a warm flickering candle.

The sign on my door reads:
‘welcome.’
And I will,
when you are ready,
with wide open arms.