That

When the soul disappears, there is the night

The pattern on the blanket of the sky

Covering the world

What lives in the darkness?

Restless and knowing, gnawing on the bones of our many selves

What yawns as it awakens?

Rubbing sleep from eyes that have been shut but finally see

Flickers of stars and fireflies, cats stalking prey, owls watching cats

The night moves slowly into a soul and takes up residence there

If only for awhile

And when it speaks, it is in whispers

Hiding from the light, holding the blanket tight around us

It tugs at the edges of our excessively constructed selves

Pulling us to snapping branches on our own forest floor

Warming us by the embers that we have somehow forgotten

Teaching us about being

Drenching us in the sweat of what we are running from

Turn toward it

Take the night’s bony, bloody, dirt covered hand

Breathe deeply while it pulls you under

Smell the scent of Persephone as she licks your wounds

Do not fear the night

Let it smolder inside you

Never let go of the stillness, solitude and grace of its darkness

Believe in what it reveals to you under that blanket of stars

Listen to what it tells you by the fire

Be that.