I am the centre. The centre is me.

I am the centre. The centre is me.
I am rooted, with strong foundations.
Walls with doors and openings
An intuitive maze through my physical self.
Internally, I have furnishings; historically belonging to others.
I have tables and chairs, with welcomed guests where emotions sit to feast.
I have antiques on mantlepieces
Ornaments on shelves.
They hold stories, memories, feelings.
Vases and jugs full of thoughts - some are not my own.
I carve and filter and pour them into the soil.
I watch nature grow.

I offer tissues for those who need them.
Empty bins are filled with throw away comments, used items, things unclean.
Everything I have, is everything I am.
And I am more than everything seen.
I need clearing, tending, pruning.
Sometimes things, concepts and rhythms get broken.
But it is always only a temporary mess.
Because I am a building. I am the centre.
I am rooted, with strong foundations.
There is always space for less.

I simply hold this space.
I am the air, the breath, the wind.
I am the space and I observe those who fill it.
They flow through me, tracing the patterns of worn rugs.
Walking over the weakest spots.
I remain the same when they are gone.
I am warm, comfortable, stable.
I am safe, ready, reliable.
My hall light always on. 

You know me.
This bound knowing we share.
It is known at birth and we swim our way back to the lighthouse.
To the candle we can see burning there.
Returning to ourselves.
To the centre.
Completely bare.
No furniture, no decorations, no pictures anywhere.

I am still, peaceful, watchful.
Opened doors ready to be closed.
To be enclosed.
To be held.
Every colour is within me.
The entire universe kept inside me.
Meaning is in the listening.
Can you hear me whispering?
I am rooted, with strong foundations.
I am the centre. The centre is me.