Cracked Open

And it cracked me open, being there
Amid the field of what was once sowed, 
now, chillingly dormant 
In the middle of it all, seeing clearly,
(if only momentarily,)
That all I needed was that moment--
 and it sustained me; 
fed me, yet cleansed me, and claimed me,  
as if a spirit ran toward me 
and screaming--- it shook me
And froze me for the moment.
In that moment everything was.
And in that moment,
 I was.  
I am now. 
And I lingered there again.

In the field; in the sticky cold mud
surrounded in patches of carve-able snow
amid stirring and anxious seeds
amid flesh from life returned,
from the cauldron of birth and decay.

In the field among unheard stones
and creeping keepers of their own sacred work.
Knowing without trepidation or question,
for they had done that already so long long ago.
In the field I saw my tracks
to where my toes still are
and gazed before me
to pristine trail not tread on...
An empty canvas; an unadorned sheet
waiting for my feet...
I looked below to find counsel
and above for approval and blessing.
The worms spoke; the rain washed over me,
and behind me erased my every step
and at first I was aghast and choked.
My eyes wouldn\'t close
and so I cried with the rain.
I knew I should have moved
and instead I didn\'t.
So there I withered, died
and was reborn in the field.
In the dark I reached out
and found the sun.
Freeing the entombed and untouched
from that earthen clutch.
In the field I had been stopped.
Or finally dropped.

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