glimpses of being whole

where is your soul? it is (in) my whole body, like a circle in a poem
or a song
“where you heading, little lamb?” my grandpa used to sing

you’re in this circle; what’s it made of? what do you see?

I can’t see anything but emptiness and silence and it’s not me, it’s me at 12 years old
and I can’t see my face but you can

I’m alone with the circle right in the middle of it; it’s drawn on a wooden floor, maybe walnut
and it gravitates like a planet around the sun, this floor floats in space like I used to float in my dreams above the houses

my face is my soul my whole body and in this circle there’s just a tiny figure that I imagine being me

painbody

If my pain-body were a book, it would be a dictionary explaining
words like “heartbreak” “promise” “little princess” “love” because there are no dictionaries to explain them
there’s only silence and sounds in between

until you surrender: you are no longer your mind

and if it were that dictionary the gaps between the words would be coloured
by the unmanifested unwritten feelings of their “heartbreak” “promise” “little princess” “love”
you see
my pain-body is still here making itself comfortable he doesn’t mind the gaps he never did although I shout at him with silence
and splashes of yellow blue pink purple cover the pages
it is still here, unborn like a fetus
unborn forever
so I will have eventually to abort

what a relief, stillness within

I exist.