I stand and point down, toward the floor and I breathe. Beginning here, a birth of air and light and I move. The circle widens as I follow the sun clockwise and in harmony. I stumble and pause afraid - to keep moving or to stay still. How will I know? Unbroken, I move again and the line is drawn clarity for what lies within and without. Life in motion and the lines blur: the safe must be released, the foreign embraced. "Look for the helpers." An unbidden guest offers consolation with a soft gaze: he, long-forgotten and no longer hoped for bears my Sisyphean stone. The circle, incomplete, though enough - wobbles as I, but my protector does not. Back to where all good journeys start, a fully-formed cycle is complete and I breathe.
This poem is part of the Thirty Days of Poetry in April; the prompt is to use an action that you do only sometimes (in this case I chose praying a Caim Circle of Protection) as a metaphor for your life.