Walking Through Myself
Unveiling the secrets of a safe place
The only journey that is most important is the one within.
— Inspired by Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 — 1926): Letters to a Young Poet (Briefe an einen jungen Dichter)
I am transparent.
I am vulnerable.
I am unfiltered —
Caught in this fragility,
I found myself wandering the corridors of a house
A structure not made of brick and mortar but of pulsing veins and whispered breaths.
My own breath, a fog before me,
my heartbeat a resounding gong
in these empty, echoing chambers.
“Is there ever a safe place?”
I asked aloud,
to the bones of my own architecture,
to the flesh draped over scaffoldings of fear and longing.
My voice, a stranger, bounced back —
half-lost in the cavernous spaces of my rib cage.
This heart-place, it breathes.
I hear it in the quiet, a murmur against the storm outside,
the way my mother’s voice used to seep through
the cracks under my childhood door —
a lullaby, a promise that night was just a curtain
not a closing.
