The Anchor

The anchor is a perfect weight, pulling earthward through my root chakra, grounding me solidly as my upper body reaches up and my heart opens and the sky rests on my head like a perfectly balanced book.

The anchor is solid iron, something you’d find abandoned in the deepest sea. It is a pulse, the space and stillness of the center of the circle. It is unchanged by mood, weather, or circumstance.

The anchor is emptiness. As weightless as it is heavy, as formless as it is something pleasing to hold. It is always now and it is always here. The anchor is timelessness and this very minute.

The anchor is rainbow, a thousand expressions of beauty from the grey and gritty to the water sparkling gloriously in the sunlight. It is shelter and it is big sky and it is tribal and familial and it is man and it is woman and everything beyond.

The anchor is indestructible by fire or by flood. It is filled with stories and mysteries and it is the expansiveness of no story. It is a revolution of names changing and a father and a mother and a child forging her own path. It is fierce, and it is so very tender.

The anchor is in a way more like a compass, locating me inside of my own body, a place from which to meet the world on the outside of this skin, these eyes, these hands and hips. It redirects my attention when I begin to spin or struggle. The anchor is reality. My heart on my sleeve and the sleeve slipping off and the exposure of so much beauty beneath. The mind inside and the mind outside are the same.

The anchor is one life. One love. A continuous arc of everything connected. I am you. You are me. I am the world. The world is me. I am dust. I am flesh. We are all living our lives, yes. And we all have this place. Mine is an anchor. Yours is something else, only you know what anchors you; where is your home, where do you locate the stillness that is a blissful void at the center of your being where there is room for absolutely everything?

Anchored, there is nothing scary about love. There is nothing to avoid or attack. There is only meeting myself and everyone and everything I encounter with my entire being. This world has so much insanity in it, so much ignorance and short-sightedness and so much pain and so much injustice and so much violence, so many forms of violence, all of it a heartbreak, a tree or a child felled. Anchored, I see the insanity in my own mind, the walls I like to stay safely inside. Anchored, I am the tree and the child and the child’s mother.

Anchored, I mourn. Anchored, I rage. Anchored, I rise.

Anchored, there is no such thing as a stranger.

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