One simple thought
Igniting a wildfire
One match that turns
A whole world upside down
We can pretend that it's not there
It will burn deeper
Cause it doesn't care
A domino effect
That's hard to stop
It's a blind spot
No way to grasp it,
Change it,
Make it disappear...
The more we fight,
The stronger it'll persevere,
The more alive it is,
Contagious pain
And identification
Will keep on breaking trust
And sending us
Into a black hole
Of intoxication.

No need for shallow chest breath
I am safe
I can breathe through my belly
Deep, becoming regular
Soothing, smoothing, slowing

No need for organised thought
I am shielded
I can relax into this place
Calm, becoming gentle
Softening, swaying, sliding

No need for clock watching
Dali time only
I can exist, chrono-sheltered
Now, becoming ageless  
Melting, muting, morphing
Here…

A door with round window
Mellowing to Renoir-lens
Glossy, smudgy, charm
Hobbit-style architecture
Familiar, shire-y, amiable
Lit warm and soft

A brown carpet bag
Caressing the rich pile
Sturdy, salvaged, true
Tardis-like inner structure
Dependable holder, infinite
For weights and woe

Smooth, even, stone stairs
Descending in timeworn strength
Secure, bendless, cool
Delivering, guiding journey-way
To ease and mend

I tender-lift my bag
Zip open for a prize
On every step

Each stair a healing game
The bag a hungry friend
To hold my heavy goods
And bare them strong for me
As I descend

Step one is for fear
Two for screaming
Three for ache
    with blurred-out meaning
Four for panic
Five dark-dread
    that slither-twists through sleep in bed
If guilt is six
Then shame is seven
    long blame-soaked school without a lesson
Eight for pleading
Nine for weeping
Ten for wounds, and burns, and bleeding

The bag now zipped, trapped weights and woe,
is set down gently, as I go
All grateful heart, and kindess-eyed
Door opens as
I walk outside

it strikes several time a day
—the dread—
carves me out like a soft squash
my torso becomes a vast painful cavity
the will to live stares morosely down,
frayed wires of puppet strings snap about my head
the soul holds me paralyzed over the void
lest I throw myself in
     it is not my time

I don’t remember how the episode passes
I just know that it does
and I am free to move again
mechanical and numb through the day
at least, for a few more hours

~I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
—Portia Nelson, "Autobiography in Five Short Chapters"

My own four experiences with holes
written October 5th, 2021

1.
I walk down a road
I fall into a hole
This happens a few times
I stop walking down roads.

2.
I get tired of being stuck in one place
I decide to try again.
I walk down a road
A different road than before
I know holes can happen
I keep my eyes on my feet
Just in case.

3.
I walk down roads
I carefully keep a list
of roads with holes
It is always in my mind
Is this a safe road?
Will it be safe today?

4.
I walk down a road with a friend
I forget to check if it's a safe road
We are talking and laughing
Then I realize
This is that very first road
the one with that big hole.

Did we not notice and walk around it?
Did we float over it?
Is the hole gone?
Will it come back?

So many questions.
All I really know is
I am grateful for
the moments of not worrying about holes
while laughing with a friend.

Why do you haunt me ghost
Lingering, lurking, and watching your host
Around every joyful corner you linger
From every happy window you watch
And from ever peripheral shadow you lurk
You do not own me
Yet you dangle a key
As if to show my captivity
In chains I am bound
As memories fly around
Nightmare is a better name
For this haunting game
Day lit terrors before my eyes
Sunny momentarily, til you cover the skies
A dark lit confusion
Met with desperation

All the unspoken screams
Still rattle in my head
Fear fills what were once dreams
Panic now owns my bed
A bed I wish to share
With kindness and love
But you lay there and stare