Gathering Together

           Keep Climbing by Theresa C. Newbill

There's that trip I take in my dreams, 
when I'm not in the zone but outside 
of it, climbing a fence with razor wire, 
the fear of impaling myself prevalent, 
silent, weighing on me, where my soul 
is a battlefield and my will, stubborn 
to it. 

How often I've forgotten that weather 
can sometimes be unseasonably cool, 
setting the tone for what I'm moving 
into, showing me the risks with insight 
and information. I don't like the position 
it puts me in, even as I keep a list of the 
ideas and possible outcomes. 

Moments of solace inspire me to stop 
and look at a lovely tree, while my energy 
is restored back to intensity, committing 
to the shifts of apprehension with integrity, 
including the involvement of priorities where 
a seemingly insurmountable problem slips 
into place smoothly in the blink of an eye. 

I have spent a considerable amount of time 
climbing, the sounds of the elements; earth, 
wind, fire, water, Spirit, somewhere between 
my inner hearing and outer hearing, occurring 
uncomfortably close. Twinges of terror rise 
within me, continually, in the struggle. At one 
point I wedge and arch my body 

into a comfortable position, trying hard to be 
courageous instead of stoic. Release comes 
on strong at one point as breathing becomes 
emotional not physical. I feel things happening 
in my head, unleashing vulnerability, but I keep 
climbing, my legs structured and pumping, the 
fence retaining the quality of slick grease. 

The next step will be huge, as stability and balance 
fight for recognition, yet I continue climbing 
intuitively, building a stronger connection with my 
diaphragm, my sternum, my pelvis, my femur. I 
know that someday I’ll appropriate a new location, 
relocated and functioning on a new level with God

at my side, but for now, I am holding on just fine.

 

 

Theresa C. Newbill