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Folding and Unfolding
 
How to fold? Fold myself into the world and its troubles. Unfold the questions. The sneaking helplessness. How to breathe myself into a Luftballon? Helium balloons floating high. Eagle-eye view. Fold myself into the fierce defense of a small spider. Hiding, scrambling. Once outside, she is ready to spin her web, again. How does she do it? Six legs. Our hands, too, fold and unfold...

Could we fold ourselves into a sanctuary? Become shelter. Unfolding lurking anger. Eyes shine with gratitude. Allowing for confusion, wrinkles, not knowing. Astonishment. Surprise. Space for koala bears, storks, and hawks alike. Beckoning the heart so hurt to transform. Into a treasure chest for swollen moons. Solace. Insight. Wrapped into cosmic invisible arms. Geborgenheit.


Folding. A refuge for lonely mothers with sensitive little boys. Who must cry, can’t help but wail. Too much, too fast. Overwhelm. Tears and ultimate letting go. How does she protect her hands, her caring? The brokenness, the shards of tea cups, breakfast bowls. Stained sorrow. Silence. Then smiling. Where can I shelter my delight? Fold myself into chords of changing harmonies.
 
Frenzied worry for an ailing husband at home. Not alone. But the attendants need instructions. She blames the world. Accuses. Her heart aches. Tempted to stay in frenetic control. But I invite her to stay in our sacred circle. After sighing and cat walking, what helps and is good for her can unfold. Contentment. Changed. Now, I am folded in wonder. How much we shape shift.
 

How to fold myself into a paper box? With owls, salamanders, and mountain lions. Slinking on the glossy surfaces. Crawling over smooth edges. Pages from old calendars. Years gone by. Wisdom. Long nights. Hands folding, unfolding. Inside, emptiness. Glimpses into other dimensions. After ferocious storms, the great unfolding of green secrets. Inevitable light. Adoration.
 
Delight in my paper boxes. Filled with seeds and gifts. To give away. Countering chilly mornings. No freeze, but flooding. No resting, but raging flames. The sprawling, creeping distance between emperors and exhausted slave laborers. Disposable. Ancient cities beneath our feet. How to unfold ourselves into another dream? Spinning delicate webs of grace. Transformation.

 
Heart chambers. Protecting innocence. Loss of homeland, of language. Cold streams of fear. How to fold life small, cozy. AND keep it spacious, four-dimensional. Room to contain it all. Hide or show. Windblown rain pounding skin. For hours. Feet unfold into earth. Sprouting silence. Out of nowhere, cello sounds emerge in my ribcage. Vibrating dark, rich, all-embracing.
 
Fold, unfold. The presence of a gift.

Life.



Comments

Karina said…
When you leave a comment on the blog, you'll notice something new - a pop-up window! Don't be alarmed, you can leave a comment as usual, either logged into Google or anonymously, just in the pop-up window instead of on the webpage. We hope this new format will solve a quirky problem that wasn't allowing some readers to leave comments at all. If you have any issues leaving a comment, let me know, and we can troubleshoot again. (Karina@karinafilms.us)
February 14, 2025 at 2:12 PM
Ecraig said…
Thank you for this invitation to meditate on folding. I love these little boxes and the familiarity of some of these story bits 💝 and look, the new comments format send to be working 🏆
February 15, 2025 at 4:17 AM
Alex K said…
A prose poem, folding unfolding hypnotically. It has me wondering about my boxes asking to be folded and unfolded. The recognition that some things require one or the other.
February 15, 2025 at 5:12 PM
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