06/17/2026
Today my mind tried to run away again—
panicked little rabbit
bolting into bramble,
certain the sky was falling
and the earth was plotting
all sorts of shenanigans
beneath my feet.
Bless it.
It means well.
But it forgets
I’m made of stardust and stubbornness,
moon-silk and tiger breath,
not just this jittery pulse
and hyperventilating imagination.
So I called my heart home.
Whispered it back
like you call a child
who’s chased a butterfly
too far into the tall grass.
“Come sit with me,” I said.
“Right here.
In this little bowl of sunlight.
Nothing is demanded of you
except your presence.”
And slowly—
like dawn stretching
her rose-gold arms—
peace unfurled.
The air softened.
The moment opened itself
like a wildflower done
with being ignored.
I remembered the ancient truth
I keep misplacing:
Life happens only now,
in this breath
and the next,
in the sweet hum
between heartbeat and hope.
Anxiety tells extravagant stories.
Presence tells the truth.
So I dropped the predictions,
the catastrophes,
the heavy sack of imaginary storms—
and stood barefoot
in the sacred here.
The only place
the soul can sparkle,
the only place
the magic still listens
for my yes.
***************
Poem © Angi Sullins - my new book "Unmasking the Myths" AVAILABLE HERE: https://angisullins.com/shop-3-2/
This page is my tribe's Red Tent Blanket Fort, and I write to find all the misfits and weirdos who belong in here with me. We have snacks. Spread the word! More about the fort: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1393715445036560&set=pb.100031943546696.-2207520000&type=3
Art: Lisa asiato
