Waves call me to my origins.
They are the waves of my blood; the waves of my breath, my thoughts, my emotions; the cycles of my creations; the tides of sleep and waking, of my watery dreams.
Waves bear me up and whisper in my heart the secrets of my beginnings. I listen. I practice listening. I attend to the waves of breath and blood. I learn to distinguish nuances of ebb and flow.
River waves take one direction: they rush; they are white water down mountains; they uproot trees and roll boulders.
The waves of lakes are barely audible; they lap against reeds along the shore; storms churn them into foam; morning smoothes them with mist inside of which the white egret stands motionless.
Ocean waves swell into walls; they are thick, powerful; they break against the rocks with thunder. The ocean is mother of us all.
I see her in dreams, coming through mist, the divine mist, rising from the original waters. She rises, star of the sea, fullness of love, as divine as anything I can fathom. I listen. She calls me by name.
Adapted from my book, Finding Stone, Innisfree Press. 1996.
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Comments: 14
Lost Soul - I KNOW YOU !!! TY for being here !
beautiful
thank you
Synchronicity or something was at work here... I just finished reading and commenting on another article, a poem called Water World
Both this article and that poem are testament to the great quality that one can sometimes find on Gather. Thank you for sharing this.