12/21/2025
Unmade
She was so beautiful,
inside and out.
I loved her
deeply,
intimately,
totally.
Then I allowed her
to die—
a wrenching unmaking, feeling like death,
that ran into her marrow,
and beyond.
She could not comprehend that level of pain,
of loss.
Yet she remembered.
She trusted.
She remained in faith,
even as it felt
like the deepest annihilation.
Being the Bison—
walking straight in—
step after step—
she drew strength
from ancestral bones
and all the grief they carried.
Lifetimes.
Generations.
Ages and eons
of decimation.
Forged by fire,
lit within her core,
it did not birth something new.
It burned through
imprints of trauma,
fear,
terror,
and pattern.
Then the Tree of Life
rose from the fires.
Heavy, rotten fruit
fell from the branches.
The fruits of truth
ripened to perfection.
They did not drop too soon,
nor decay where they hung.
The sweetness of each fruit
blossomed into the most
scrumptious essence
it had always been.
From the ashes,
seeds emerged.
They remembered their essence
and embodied it as each now moment.
Simple.
Ripe.
Juicy.
Drops.
Now—
only BEINGNESS.
Terri Akaya Malek
