The Day I fell from the Sky

I’m feeling a strange, grief—

the sadness of a lifetime of injury,

senseless injury.

Memories of carnage drift through the marrow.

I feel the weight in my body—

the burden of carrying the collective’s unconscious.

I don’t remember asking for this.

I don’t recall giving consent in utero

or before conception.

When I came to earth my body wanted what all bodies want:

to realize union,

the sweetness of love embodied.

Some of us are chosen

to live teachings so hard and deep

they burn through the skin.

They ask us to become the love,

to become the light

in a world full of shadows.

Today,

I don’t want to be luminous

so that we all learn.

Today,

I just want to lay down in the grass—

a small wounded bird

fallen from a world

that did not hold me.

Let the earth be my only witness—

soft-bellied, unjudging,

a green silence wide enough for sorrow.

Let the wind pass over me

as if I were nothing more

than a prayer coming undone.

There is no virtue in endurance today.

No wisdom in shining through the ache.

Let me be unremarkable,

unnamed by purpose,

just breath and bone

and the slow dissolving

of all I was told to carry.

Not every being came here

to be the medicine.

Some of us came

to weep the grief no one named.

To feel what others refused to feel.

To speak the wound

in a language older than words.

So let me rest here,

in the hush between heartbeats,

where no one asks for healing—only honesty.

Let this be my prayer:

Not to rise,

not to teach,

not to shine—

but to be.