I move slow.

For so long now I've moved at a rabbit's pace.  Buzzing and hopping from moment to moment where thoughts ascended like fire up a chute, into sky, burning the woods around and inside me.
But these bunny bones have grown tired as the pace of life thickens and the threads of my soul wear thin.

Something has shifted.  Something brewing deep down for awhile now, is asking for space.
An urge has been crawling upwards and is crying out for attention.
Slow.
I am finally slowing down as the world speeds to a pace it cannot keep up with. And we are now juxtaposed.
Like a turtle I want to ooze over things, caressing the ground underneath me.
Ignoring the end of things, knowing I will get there in good time.
Not to worry or fret over how but just go there slowly, and feel every trace of it.

My body craves a slowing of time, an enveloping of itself into warmth and lust, the complete immersion into moment.
A safe and embodied trust that will develop because I see there is time to build it and if I don't know the way, I will be shown with patience.

Slow conversations that crackle the air with pregnant pauses.
With time to listen to deeper meaning and no fear for what is not said.
Or what needs to be said.  For there is time.

Slow love that seeps into me before my brain can find walls to build.
Hands moving slowly.  Heart opening slowly.  Eyes soft.
Love spreads around me, gently.

The chaos of life is not beyond my witness, for I see how flurried we have become and what I crave most of all, is something that will turn the world on it's end and head the other direction.

Oh how I have grown backwards in time.

©11/14/11DanyaMosgofian