They push deep into the earth searching, feeling, wayfaring without seeing the stars above. Hidden in the dark beneath the mantle, where light is not seen but is a conceptual thought.
Boring through rock with driven desire and an undeniable calling. Charred by the centre's fire when veered off course, lost along the way, but never for long.
Regeneration of the tender and raw drawing strength from its own ash, petrified former self, and rest earned in a bed of ancient stardust.
Recalculating roots, their only compass, your vibrational signal, of which yours is the very same.
Quivering, shaking, pushing and drawing nearer in never ending exhaustion because you must, go deep and so far so you can eventually touch.
When I feel disconnected I meditate and imagine my feet growing roots that push into the core of mother earth, so I feel “in touch”. I found my inspiration in Aaron Quist's poem today, ballerina roots as we are connected by breath above and roots below.
Link below to Aaron's poem on Medium.