Twist

I am in a tornado.
And I am not alone.

I see you, you, you,
holding the center.

Above a blue never before seen, neither painting
the heavens nor plashing currents of sea. So blue.

Below a red unimaginable to the canyons and
strata, the swollen clays of telluric casting.

About us swirls dark debris of millennia: strife,
forsaking, chaos found in the remains of separation.

A turbulent course elected, it seems—separation—
by our kind, however difficult to engage.

Entered to explore, to one day unravel so menacing
a sunder plaguing inherent wholeness.

That we might come to discern its slippery hand,
tunneled vision, its distortions of memory, harmony.

Its extractive colonizing madness cancelling culture
long, long before cancelling culture cut its teeth.

Even now, stripping lands, spoiling waters, their
sheds, undermining sacred foundations of

stewardship, protection, reverence meant to survive
generations and generations, eons hence.

Still, focus here, and lose your bearings, your
sight, breath, thrashed about in thrashing winds.

Cast sight beyond: blue possibility; below: deep,
grounded roots; within the eye—calm, stillness—

even as the maelstrom, its ravenous twisted
ferocity, snakes in full and still fuller view.

It takes a higher order of focus to straddle two
worlds, two poles, one consciousness.

It is this self-determination, dynamic re-orientation,
we are in this careening funnel to master.

Reminded that Newton's third law of motion still
stands: for every action—force—in nature (of which

man is inseparable) there is an equal and opposite
reaction. Balance, even in the storm.

We regard our ages-old passage as insufferably
long, it is but a flash as life keeps time—

as we might should we find it within ourselves
to let go/d.

Acts of god gathering the dross of continents as
they pull into their sweep the soil of our waste,

all that was required to meet the directness of this
odyssey of intimately embodied experience.

That, in itself is not wasted, for we have become,
are becoming, ever new—however many circles

we hold fast to; cycles show the spiral of progress,
fingerprints in the stars of our multiverse.

Our human finds it unbearable, these
contractions of becoming intolerable,

but our being enrolled in this vastly higher
education long, long ago and knows its coursing,

its heart, ours—the nerve center
of life itself.

Very like this gathering eye, this vortex of
encompassed serenity aloft on Gaia's gales,

her exhale mighty as she has given her breath until
we, her kith/kin, her own, could find our own

where we failed and failed and failed to prize it: in
the mouths of rivers, trees, the songs of whales, blue

lotuses, the wing beats of butterflies, bats, the
living, breathing life force of one another

—a corpus of one air,
animating one life,

one place

we call
home.

∞|∞

Eve Moore ©2026

© Sketch: Eve Moore ©2026

Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well. 

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“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix

This poem/prose was submitted exclusively to CrystalWind.ca by Eve Moore.

© 2026. All original wisdom belongs to its creator, Eve Moore. CrystalWind.ca honors this truth by adding design, formatting, and imagery to uplift your experience. Please respect the creator’s rights—redistribution or commercial use is not permitted without permission.