I was listening to a talk by Dr. Ysaye Marie Barnwell this morning where she asked what it would be like to live as though our soul was being rocked. What would that do to how we moved, how we spoke, sang, walked, danced? How would that change how we felt and what we communicated no matter what we were doing? In her presentation, she was referring to singing, though the more I sat with the question, the more it didn’t really matter whether it was singing or whether it was walking down the sidewalk, speaking one’s mind or heart, eating a plum, or floating in the quiet just before sleep.

Rock My Soul

What would it be
to move as though one’s soul
was rocked, being rocked. rocking
within the embrace of the source,
the fiery softness of Centre
where milkweed meets the Aurora Borealis,
where cedars stand, withstand, the bitter
and the respite winds.

What would it be 
to move as though God,
manifest in the prophesying dahlia,
in the chanted breath of justice-seeking;
as though God,
grounded in the nourishment of a meal among friends,
and loosed in the flight between Here and There,
rocked, was rocking, rocks, my cradled soul?

Kimberly M. King