Singularity

This poem was born from the endless struggle of going inward while still trying to stay afloat. From doubting the road you are on, reaching for something you cannot yet name, and searching without knowing whether there is anything to be found.

Perhaps the search is the finding.

This one is for all of you still looking.

Fall into the deep,

where no one can catch you.

Shed a tear,

or a thousand,

until the body has no water left

for grieving.

Go inward,

to where the heart meets the mind,

and linger there.

Hold the small spark

that knows you

before you name yourself.

Tell her:

Alone you came.

Alone you shall go.

But never

without yourself.

Never entirely whole.

Never truly incomplete.

Remain there.

The place from which you began

is still beneath you,

breathing through the earth,

longing for air.

Touch it.

Not with the cautious fingers

you use upon surfaces,

but with the whole weight

of your knowing.

You already know

all that you need.

You carry more

than has yet been revealed.

Release.

Let the air buried within you

find its way out.

What you are touching

is your singularity:

the self beneath every self,

the one no wound could divide,

the one no departure

could take from you.

Fight it, if you must.

But only by meeting it

without turning away

will you become free.