My heart in my chest,
Quivering, alone and unsure
Feeling small in a strange land
My heart in my head,
Rationalizing away the fear,
Lost among wayward thoughts
My heart in my eyes,
Hesitant, always curious,
Imbibing a world of wonders
My heart in my throat,
Stumbling over words not true
Groping for songs in the dark
My heart in my belly,
Holding space for the girl inside,
Crying with her until smiles come
My heart on my skin,
Exposed too soon, it feels,
Hoping wildly for tenderness
My heart in my hands,
Longing, feeling the way
To every fragile connection
My heart in my knees,
Falling to earth, breathing relief,
Sinking to a necessary pause
My heart in my feet,
Soaking up life, gingerly,
Taking all the steps I need …
My heart in my chest,
Back home, nothing looks the same
It is a wiser love, love, it is home.
I think the word “trust”
and my heart cowers, trembling,
trying to squeeze
into the tiniest corner it can find,
to be left alone to pick up
a million shattered pieces,
find utmost tenderness
in the wake of a thousand heartaches.
There are so many ways of falling apart,
each feeling like a well-trodden road
that can take you to your place of pain
with the great ease of the unburdened.
The climb back, out, in the other direction,
the monumental effort of this.
The ache of one tiny swivel of the head,
the reward is instant.
Right there, just off to the side
on the road of worry,
a tree, gargantuan, protector and protected.
It makes no promises, asks nothing of you.
So you are drawn here, slowly, to observe,
(still clutching your aching heart)
the great way of the tree,
standing through all seasons,
accepting of its plush plenitude
and bear nakedness alike,
harming no thing,
nourishing as it is nourished
only to the extent that it can,
so that it always has what it needs,
the great lesson in this.
The great miracle
of being teaching being,
of all that is offered, all the salves
to a heart in need of healing.
For our beloved lost ones …
We are in the hallway,
we have our books, our friends,
and every wild certain hope for the future.
We step through the front doors
and into the hallway,
end in sight, giddy for the outcome,
a turned corner, a new day,
for love, for lovers, for learning.
It is our work to be young,
to shoulder what responsibilities we can,
to live in a world with kindness,
to be protected. To be protected.
We have lost so much.
We have lost almost everything.
The hallways, now, lined with our terror,
the classrooms teaching principles
that are not abided by,
so our lives are torn asunder.
It is our right to be young.
We are taught to trust and obey
in something that is now sick and dying.
It is time to to tear these hallways down
and find what serves,
what is worthy of our belief,
to find a radical starting again.
To plumb the depths oceans
and scale the mountain peaks,
to sit in dark, quiet caves and listen,
to learn our truths for the first time in our young lives,
and believe in them above all else,
and build with love
on the ashes of our beloved departed,
grow flowers where they lie,
honour them every hour of every day,
not stop until what is sick is healed,
be the change that will save the world.
– Tammy Takahashi