I’ll Call It Apathy

This isn’t sadness… so, I’ll call it apathy. This is my experiential self cowering in the aftermath. This is numbness born of relentlessness, the same place I always land after long waves of anxious undertones and days laced with fear.

Nothing more to give to noticing.

The sun hardly touches me, hardly reaches the recess I’ve crawled inside. Worry is an afterthought that isn’t given much consideration. I know emergence will be full divinity in the matter of moments. I’m sure it will be sparked by simplicity; the smell of home, a honeybee’s visiting, a fox in the path, a spider in the doorway… I will clear the vision, trace the thread, find my way back.

For now I rest in the softened gaze, savoring the blurred edges and lack of definition. I rest in the knowing that death and rebirth are one and the same, this is only the in-between.

So I’ll call it apathy, and I’ll call it just fine. A part of the process. A sign that rebirth is on the horizon. I’ll be back. I’ll be bright. I’ll be waiting, still, a gently held breath on the edge of exhale.