Progeny

 

The Wind thrusts relentlessly

against the ocean’s surface

until, in liquid gratitude,

a Current rises to meet the Wind

and be freed from the pressure

of an underwater existence

for awhile..and

In that cataclysmic meeting of

Moving Air and Counter-moving Water,

In that orgasmic movement of Power

In, out, around, on, over, and through-

One, a part of the Other now..until!

A Wave begins to rise,

Birthed in ecstatic release

for awhile..and

Rolling, cascading, turning down, turning up,

the Wave, separate now from the Current

moves westward, toward its someday Lover

with other offspring of the Ocean’s expansive bed

and hand in hand at times, dancing together

in white-capped frenzy and then

alone, in gentle surges onward

for awhile..and

One day, in the fullness of its Life

The Wave enters the gravitational

Inevitabilities and intimate destinies

of the Lover’s grasp.

And, spreading wide its watery arms,

full of strength with which to embrace

and filled, too, with nautical stories

of distance, storms, and oceanic denizens,

the Beach, the perfect and only Lover-

the culmination of Wavy dreams and

Unwavering hope-

is met,

for awhile..and

In a wet and lengthy kiss

The Wave fades into its Beloved destiny,

with every drop of its existence still whole,

and every moment of its Life still existent

in the Lives of everything it has touched

on its long shoreward journey.

The Wave- dissipated- becomes part of the Currents

that circle the Planet..

Currents, flowing from their Beloved in tender trust

and singular surety;

Currents, beginning their time of waiting

for the powerful but sweet, and thrusting but gentle,

invitations of the Winds, to rise

and meet them, and give birth to

a new Creation.

7 12 08 (with love for Thich Nhat Hahn)

Song of the Wave

by Kahlil Gibran

The strong shore is my beloved
And I am his sweetheart.
We are at last united by love,
And then the moon draws me from him.
I go to him in haste and depart
Reluctantly, with many little farewells.

I steal swiftly from behind the blue horizon,
To cast the silver of my foam upon the gold of his sand,
And we blend in melted brilliance.

I quench his thirst and submerge his heart;
He softens my voice and subdues my temper.
At dawn I recite the rules of love upon his ears,
And he embraces me longingly.

At eventide I sing to him the song of  hope,
And then print smooth kisses upon his face;
I am swift and fearful, but he is quiet, patient, and thoughtful.
His broad bosom soothes my restlessness.

As the tide comes we caress each other,
When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in prayer.

Many times have I danced around mermaids
As they rose from the depths
And rested upon my crest to watch the stars;
Many times have I heard lovers complain of their smallness,
And I helped them to sigh.

Many times have I teased the great rocks
And fondled them with a smile,
But never have I received laughter from them;
Many times have I lifted drowning souls
And carried them tenderly to my beloved shore.
He gives them strength as he takes mine.

Many times have I stolen gems from the depths
And presented them to my beloved shore.
He takes them in silence,
But still I give for he welcomes me ever.

In the heaviness of night,
When all creatures seek the ghost of slumber,
I sit up, singing at one time and sighing at another.
I am awake always.

Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me!
But I am a lover, and the truth of love is strong.
I may be weary, but I shall never die.

Beach

“Why do people all over the world flock to the sandy shore? I think it is because the instant they touch the sand, the moment they hear the surf, the evil spirits flee and they feel at home in the world.” (Richard Bode, Beachcombing at Miramar)

The beach calls to the edges of our temporality. It makes blurry those events we call our birth and death. The beach confuses us, and pleasantly so, about what we believe, how we came to believe it, and how those beliefs are determining the ways we live.

This morning’s kelp, after all, has been rolling onto this shore for millennia before there was any human here to perceive it. The gulls have been busy at their finding and eating of sand fleas long, long before there were names for either of them. And the very ground, now between our toes, is a billion year old artifact of volcanic eruptions and the always-rewritten record of teeming shell life beyond our sight.

“Who am I?” becomes one of the questions drawn from us by the beach’s eternal dialogue.

“Who cares?” is one of the liberating answers, if we are listening.

And that answer is not to negate any of us who are clinging to our individualities for definition and meaning. It is, rather, an answer that allows us to begin to transcend ourselves- to see and start to understand our lives in the context of eternity, rather than the prison of time. All that we are seeing at the beach is part of something that came before. It is all still there. The ocean waves of a thousand years ago are no longer seen, but their substance laps at our feet. The shells of 200 million year old ammonites and other crustaceans have been ground into a luxurious, hundred foot pile carpet for us to walk upon, and for the sand fleas to hide within. The wind, born of the ocean and the moon, again and again and again, is the same wind which lifted pterodactyls yesterday, and gulls and pelicans and terns this day.

Watch the piles of kelp over several days, and you’ll see the thin black history of the Earth’s Carboniferous Period leaking into the sand strata beneath them.

It is possible, sitting here at the edge of Life’s beginnings, to- for moments- forget even our names. It is possible, breathing here the salt air of Creation, to feel absolute freedom from our selves.