You won’t know

you are traveling through it

until you are well within its territory.

By the time you wake to your coordinates,

a sinking sensation will be upon you;

a closing-in of a sort,

as if your usual places of brightness and succor

have been walled-off to you.

Reaching for the old hand-holds won’t work.

Old pleasures that once drove you will evaporate.

Even your face will change in the cosmic mirror.

Regardless of attempts at strategizing,

or any righteous feelings of identity theft,

the road will perpetually bring you back

to the trailhead of a very hard truth.

You can’t turn back,

there is no map,

movement forward is still required.

This is when you must call upon

sources and powers beyond you.


The respite of the darkening night.

The cocoon-like sleep of winter.

The dragons guarding gold within you.

You may even have to slough-off your skin

and spend a whole season sitting disoriented.

I wish I could offer you more assurances.

The only thing I can unequivocally say

is that slowing down and observing

takes on a near-religious dimension.

And the seasons…

the faithfulness of the seasons

start to become a salve

in a way you’ve never known them before.

mellom (Norwegian): between, in the middle

image: Geran de Klerk

sound: "Absence From the Conscious World", Slow Paths Beyond, Andrew Lahiff