@Fluttershy1 Good to hear things are well with you
i had a really hard time waking up in state, took me quiet a few hours to get through that but my mood did pick up afterwards and been writing my book enjoyed doing that but it was challenging as well.
@MissGremlin @MindfulMango @tyme @TAB
rewrote an old poem on climbing out of my fall in life.
A Pit left behind
As I climb over the rim, I clearly see;
a trembling passes through what once was me:
below, without bottom, the pit still lies
an open wound beneath familiar skies.
A depth that calls without a sound,
a pull that circles, drawing down;
not distant, not elsewhere to flee
but something once alive in me.
Dark thoughts pound, not one, but many
threaded tight, accusing, heavy;
guilt and shame in woven breath,
whispering doubt, foretelling death.
Pressing, pressing, ever near,
feeding on remembered fear;
not from outside do they creep
but from the places buried deep.
And still they reach they cling, they claim
through heat, through spark, through searing flame;
my footing falters, stones give way,
old fires licking at my clay.
Why did I carry what burns so long?
Why did I call that darkness strong?
A weight once worn as part of me,
now seen for what it came to be.
Above, not distant, yet not near
a Light that neither shouts nor fears;
no force, no push, no binding claim,
yet steady still, and still the same.
Not grasped, not owned, not held in hand
yet known in ways I understand;
a quiet knowing, clear and bright,
that draws me upward into light.
Stone against skin, and skin against stone,
the climb is mine yet not alone;
for every place that would not yield
now slowly breaks, is gently healed.
What once was fixed begins to bend,
what once held tight now finds an end;
those hardened places, sharp and cold,
no longer have the grip they hold.
Upward still through ache, through strain,
through loss of what I thought was gain;
for what falls off was never true,
and what remains is carried through.
Not by force, nor by my might —
but by a steady, living light;
a truth that does not rise and fall,
but waits, and holds, and gathers all.
And so I climb, not to escape,
but to leave behind a former shape;
for what once seemed the only way
now fades as I move into day.
The pit remains but not for me;
its voice has lost authority.
What fed on fear can no longer stay
where truth and life now find their way.
And in that turning, slow yet sure,
what once was fractured stands more pure;
not made anew by will or plan
but by becoming what I am.
