Vachon Imagined

The choice for freedom
came to her
in all her anguish,
all her despair,
at a world
that will not stop changing—
a world she wished
would freeze
let her be forever happy,
always,
like a statue,
never shifting,
never falling,
permanent.

But fall she did—
fall she does—
into the deep wide ocean
of lower consciousness,
lower energy,
heavy,
fruitful,
pulling her down,
teaching her weight,
teaching her roots.

“Oh, don’t touch that today,”
“Oh, let that go for now,”
the low whispers,
and she listens,
letting the depth teach her
how the high tastes,
how the high moves,
how the high waits.

Through low, through high,
she reaches,
into a plane that is new
but old to time,
old to the mystery,
a horizon that shifts
even as she stands
on its edge,
breathing the ever-falling, ever-rising ocean,
learning that freedom
is not a statue,
not a fixture,
but the pulse
between the plunge
and the ascent.