She was wading
For something in particular
Her role in the hay
Like searching for a needle
Attentive to pricks and pitchforks
Grasping at straws
Wandering what might catch
Frayed of what could be
Inconceivable
A mystical roam to grow
That sacred womb
Between pricks
And unguarded of pitchforks
And at that point
Only too fine herself
No longer scarred of the unmovable
Assumes that miraculous happen stance
Of awe in the present
Life can be traumatic. Life can be miraculous. 
Life encompasses both. Life can be scary. Life has long-standing scary realities that won’t go away by just changing our thinking or attitude. Unfortunately, traumatic experiences can forge us into reactionary ways of being in the whirled. Reacting quickly and/or diligently to dangerous or potentially dangerous situations can serve us well in coping with threatening situations. However, coping mechanisms, when reflexively applied to situations not particularly threatening, can become self-defeating and interfere with healthy adaptation to life larger than a threatened existence. I consider coping mechanisms as a normal adaptation to an abnormal (unhealthy) situation. There are aspects of reality that are deeply persistent. There are aspects of reality that are profoundly fluid. The deep persistence of reality serves as a reliable and predictable foundation for our being and acting in the world, and, inasmuch as reality is dangerous, this may induce large-scale helplessness, discouragement, or even despair. 
The profound fluidity of life offers a perpetual freshness which can be exciting and enthralling, and, inasmuch as reality is threatening, may be overwhelming and disorienting. I find the best aspects of reality as both deeply persistent and profoundly fluid. I find the mystery of constant change profoundly gripping. In the dusk of life, we are like fireflies rising on a summer eve, like stardust miraculously animated wafting toward heaven, one’s true home, only to be jarred by some still maturing beings of undetermined curiosity or cruelty, bugging us to know end, each preying for unending inquisitions, soully to be unjarred of what we once were, freed by more than, ever anew. Go ahead, assume the position: that miraculous happen stance. It’s awe you have too due.
