By Donald S. Yarab
ὁδὸς ἄνω κάτω μία καὶ ὡυτή
“The way up and the way down are one and the same.”
—Heraclitus, Fragment 60 (Diels–Kranz); cf. Fragment 69 (Kirk & Raven)
When the mind enclosed reels, the frame gives way—
No border left to mark the night from day.
No cry, no anchor, only this descent
Where meaning bleeds and thought is all but spent.
It is not drift, but failure to remain—
The loosening of self from shape, from name.
It does not seek, nor struggle, nor insist—
It simply ceases, lost beyond all reach.
No wind attends, no witness marks the trace,
No voice declares the vanishing of place.
The silence is not peace, but what survives
When all the scaffolds break, and none revives.
No hand to hold, no vow left to defend—
One thought still clings—then breaks before the bend.
Just falling, falling, not to sky or land,
But into being none can understand.
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Northcoast Antiquarian 
The first verse hits the nail on the head in times like these. I see the rise in mental health problems among the population, among others, in the fact that “No border left to mark the night from day.” What was once an anchor is crumbling and igniting fear of “only this descent.” And “The loosening of self from shape, from name.” Until we give up struggling, trying to stand up, and seeking meaning. Something we can’t find in the consumer world. “Just falling, falling, not to sky or land…”
When everything around us that we’ve been able to cling to crumbles, it’s up to us to find our footing.
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