If and when you lose calm and normal, I will hear the sirens blaring from the brilliant wheels turning in your head.
You and I take turns with this. We know the panic cord well; it is an unfortunate immediate reaction of ours with a cycle of healing that follows. I most often pull it when I realize that I have not yet broken solid ground with the soles of my feet or loved someone enough to pick rose petals from their eyes. You most often pull it when you realize you’ve become trapped in a box or when you’ve moved mountains for people who haven’t a callous on their fingers.
If you pull the panic cord, know this: I have seen you wrestle with ghosts and cradle magic in your palms. I have seen you be unstoppable, brave, and excellent. You are still shaking ashes from your hair and it is not yet your time to fizzle out.
If you pull the panic cord, I hope that you look at moving water and remember how vast and possible your universe is. I have seen you leap into the unknown and watched as you mapped it into a haven. You are and always have been a pioneer.
If you pull the panic cord, I will clutch your hand while you sleep. Put your mind to rest. When you wake, light will pour in and spill healing patterns over your skin. You are allowed to lie here with yourself, to exist beyond the hollows of your bones and the caverns of your chest, to revel in gravity in the shade of fig trees.
When you pull the panic cord, breathe deep. You will inhale; you will exhale. The world will be there, calm and normal, waiting for you. I will be webbed into a recluse, nearby. And you will continue to create yourself.