Once I stood in a field very far from the city and said –
Your will, not mine
as if I was a believer.
The sun beamed down with its strong, almost blinding light.
I felt it on my back, stroking me,
then enveloping me
like a blanket of dandelions and daisies so that I fell
to the ground, almost swooned
as if drunk or dazed, and into
a long deep sleep that lasted probably no more than a minute.
But when I woke, I’d let go,
I’d surrendered. I rose up
and knew I’d stopped fighting my fate. I was able to breathe,
all the tightness and tension had gone
as if someone had come and lifted it
from my shoulders, moved it through me to the grass and the ground,
through my feet, my fingers.
I walked back to the house
where we were staying, my family who’d brought me there
but who were somewhat like strangers.
I said nothing, of course, of what had happened
for my family are skeptical of anything that sounds close to God.
So I held the sense of peace
that had come over me
like a prayer, and returned to the city, resolved.