I drew a map on the back of a breath, Set my small lantern against the depth. Down through the layers where old currents run, Past the deep unconscious, the subconscious sun. A flash in the eyes, a tilt of the head. The body remembers what words never said. The stars kept their rhythm; the planets held time. My pulse found the measure and entered the line. The colliculi whispered, *Here is the where.* The gray asked, *What is the feeling held there?* The locus coeruleus struck its bright bell; My body knew first what my story could tell. Turn toward the place where the silence began, One breath, one sensation, one inch of ground. Shock has a pulse; pain has a name; The self can return through the heart of the flame. Across every orbit, through each hidden scar, A life keeps its motion beneath every star. I travel the depths and come back with a view: The child who was lonely is living here, too. I learned how to leave when the ache overflowed, How to fold up the self and lighten the load. Sometimes the world lost its edges and place; Sometimes my body felt distant from space. Sometimes the feeling went quiet and small; Sometimes a whole self stepped forward to call. Each way of dividing had guarded a spark A bright little compass still working in dark. A circuit can cap what the midbrain can bear; A mind can drift when the shock fills the air. The parts kept their chapters, their feelings, their years Each one a survivor who carried my fears. Turn toward the place where the silence began, One breath, one sensation, one inch of ground. Shock has a pulse; pain has a name; The self can return through the heart of the flame. Across every orbit, through each hidden scar, A life keeps its motion beneath every star. I travel the depths and come back with a view: The child who was lonely is living here, too. The brace held its post at the jaw and the spine; The shoulders stood guard at the edge of the line. A word made room where the muscles could wait; The head found its balance; the breath changed its gait. Alexander’s question moved softly through space: Could the body meet gravity without armor in place? Each small release gave the shock room to clear; A little more ground, a little more here. I met the old hunger beneath the disguise: A child seeking shelter in someone’s eyes. The borrowed voice thundered, “Stay close, stay small”; Its mask had once helped me survive it all. I grieved what I needed, the care that was missed; I felt the sharp truth move through my wrist. Then came a new view, unforced and alive: “I can stay with myself. I can feel. I survive.” Some pain is a compass; some pain is a sea. Some pain says, “I needed you there with me.” The therapist listens, the room holds its shape; A steady presence makes room for escape For escape from the old rule that silence was safe, For a voice and a body, for breath in its place. The stars do their turning; the tide finds its shore. The self gathers slowly, then asks for more. Turn toward the place where the silence began, One breath, one sensation, one inch of ground. Shock has a pulse; pain has a name; The self can return through the heart of the flame. Across every orbit, through each hidden scar, A life keeps its motion beneath every star. I traveled the depths; I came back with a view: The child who was lonely was carrying me through. The map is still changing. The stars still move. The body keeps learning a wider groove. I am the author, the traveler, the sea A life with its motion returning to me.
