Poiesis

I hold a world in me, big and scattered with parts I recognise, but mostly –
I am a stranger to this skin, foreign feet feeling fully.
To places that held me prior, I now struggle to belong. To worlds that reflected back parts of me, of who I was, I struggle to find any recognition. I struggle to belong, even to the tribes that offered me a home.
The god and the dancing, lovemaking and feeling, certainty, the anchors.
My own reflection is a stranger to me. The world is dissolving.

There’s not point in fighting against disintegration. I allow this descent, despite the resistance and my willingness to be out on the other side. Befriending dark, knowing now that there is no way around the aloneness. Allowing it to penetrate deeper, soul stillness, quiet dying.

I try to grasp on things that are familiar, but the familiar is no longer coherent. There’s nothing that can contain me anymore. I find most of the world tasteless, bored by its mundanity.
A ghost to my own aliveness.
The only way is through. Emptied fully, no remnants of who I was, no remnants of who or what I loved and held dear to me. I am fully empty.

So I hold myself through this decay with so much love. I love each part, I love myself wholly, fully, fiercely. The only real thing, the only thread of aliveness, the pulse – this love. This deep acceptance. The surrendering. Dying towards renewal and the poiesis of self that follows.