Winds to be reckoned with do more than make waves; all evidence of human existence is entirely without-trace erased. Reset is the playing field. Wiped clean, the slate.
Denied are the attempts to leave any more prints. The only impressions saved are those upon the heart. Is your legacy of love enough to advance to the next start?
Rough week. Double red flags waving. The bay wilder than the ocean. It called me home. Here’s to the ones in the throes of it. Let’s relight ourselves. Again.
I give my light freely, but sometimes it is taken, emotional perpetrators breaching my innermost spaces.
They underestimated my strength and did again today,
for as long as there is the sea and my God, I will raise my arms in faith; you will never keep me down as long as there are waves and rays.
Let me walk with you awhile, whether or not you lend me your shoes for a mile.
In fact, let’s both take them off and leave them here as we surf the shore,
finding naturally the treasures within us each, bare feet on common shifting grounds equally.
One set of footprints in the sand they say is when we are carried by Him,
but in the interim let me be the second impressions alongside yours, for in this world we all need sometimes to see the touch so longed for.
We don’t need to hold hands. We don’t need to even speak. Let’s just walk together awhile in the comfort of kindred company.
And should you be here again tomorrow, maybe we could exchange shoes for a mile. And should you come back at our planned time, maybe for a bit, we could leave our shells behind.
If I offered you my hand, would you walk with me, leisurely toward dreams sunsetting upon the sea?
If I shared what’s in my shell, let you hear the whispers, would you heart-preserve them among your dearest treasures?
If I stopped and turned and looked into your eyes, would I find there what I’ve been searching for all of my life?
If I were brave enough to let that gaze linger, would you be brave enough to close the distance even further?
If you kissed me, would you be able to surrender, to allow me to turn the key and make you mine forever,
not by locking, but by releasing, freeing the love you’ve been deep-freezing,
to feel directly the flutter of mine, the wings I have grounded indefinitely from flying?
And if they combined, these lights in our souls, would you regret not having the time for closure with your shadows?
If our union ends up to be the origin of love, would this moment be perfect enough for the first page of our album?
Would you fall each day deeper in love with me; would our love grow until it lifts us into eternity?
I suppose if you don’t know all of this now, I’d still like to walk with you awhile, and if you already know all of this now, you should know these feelings in me I could never disavow.
As you reach for my hand even though none of this I have said aloud, I feel the universe shift and know I have been finally found.
If just for today, my darling, turn your back on them; let’s leave the ghosts behind, full circle turn the penance.
We’ll frolic through the fields, tuck some petals behind our ears; let the coast drown out those distant wails, let our laughter be what we hear.
Take my hand, my love; too beautiful is this day! Let’s get lost on our deserted island; let me take you to our favorite place.
In the breezy, salty air beyond the slow windmill, when the light catches just right, let me entrance you with my sea-spell;
look into my eyes, let my soul-windows reflect every reason I fell for you in all the seasons since we met
to remind you who you really are, to discredit all their untruths, I’ll seal the re-revelation in with a stolen kiss and by your initiative, endless more will ensue; we’ll topple down into the warm sand and love away the afternoon.
Your ghosts can wait. Be mine today, my forever groom.
I smile and hide that the breath delivered with that kiss I trapped inside was laced with a mermaid-gifted antidotal light to transmute the creviced shadows that had slowly been eating you alive.
A daily dose I’ll provide as your forever nurse- bride.
If just for today, my darling, turn your back on them; let’s leave the ghosts behind. Stay here in my eyes.
Dense fog advisory. Dark, early Saturday morning. Mild temperatures. A perfect time to… head to the beach! I make my coffee to go.
I love fog and mist, as I do rain and thunderstorms…something about the mood of this kind of weather invigorates my soul. It is another clue in the discovery of my own inner roots, another clue in the direction to go, to finally arrive at home, that place my soul has always tugged me toward. I have come to co-exist with this spiritual restlessness.
As I make the short drive to the bridge, I am fascinated by the “disappearance” of the familiar land and ocean across the bay, parallel to the road. If I didn’t know it existed, it would seem that this was where the flat earth simply ended, the beyond, inaccessible yet really only veiled by the fog, like El Dorado or Atlantis. But I do know it exists, and I take the bridge into the clouds…
I am obsessed with clouds, so I suppose it is no wonder that the ones reaching down to embrace me call to me. It is a strange sort of adrenaline to me to be on a bridge in a cloud; even though I know by heart what surrounds, it is simply “not there” now, and it is “just me” (why I love early mornings) in this bizarre reality.
I was hoping to experience the phenomenon I’ve only driven by before: when the fog hovers above the bay. That is not the case today, so I am a bit disappointed and walk to the ocean side. My soul is thrilled, though, to immediately see the lone fisherman: it is another clue about my timeless soul, the comforting spiritual connection I feel observing (or reading poems about) fishermen and remote fishing villages. I ponder again if I may be part mermaid after all.
A few steps in, I lose vision, my eyesight becoming foggy itself from the sea mist upon my glasses. I will have to look for treasures and take photos partially blind, but always finding the adventure and the positives, I embrace the challenge. It seems more fitting anyway, to have even blurrier vision in the fog; it doesn’t make much of a difference really. For a bit, though, coffee thermos in hand, I sit in the silky white sand and just exist, me and the lone fisherman, phantoms in the mist… I love the coast on days like this, too early or in unfavorable conditions when I can have the world to myself. The fisherman was here first though, an indigenous ghost representing generations of past fishermen lining the coast and not-lost at sea. When the local residents begin their descent on the paved horizon, I will take my leave and return to my bird sanctuary, the lot that contains my abode, never quite a home, though it’s still my favorite place to retreat to.
I find it senseless to come to the sea if you do not at least dip your feet into the magical waters; I am surprised that the water temperature delivers no jolt of briskness. I let the waves wash over my polish-chipped, never-manicured toes, my capris get soaked…oops, but oh well. I walk for a while in the surf, feeling the gentle ebb and flow, benevolent nudges to and fro, the pull teasing, seemingly luring back into the benevolent parts of the deep; I look at my feet, but no tail is morphing.
Back upon the smooth sand-slate, I stoop low to inspect sea-strewn debris and treasures, and I think the difference is truly in the clichéd eye-of-the-beholder; I always favor the forgotten and discarded. I listen with genuine interest to the stories dripping with lessons of the “broken” shells, let them also feel a touch, too often only stepped around and upon, at best inspected and tossed back, seashell hunters looking for “the perfect” ones, visibly whole, sometimes even shunning all and purchasing faux.
I do hold one of those “perfect” formations, though its plainness probably makes it unseen. What I notice most is our prints, and I compare and ponder the non-insignificance, silent lifelines that brand us, as non-related species of different trees, yet neither with roots. We are both free. Both molded with love from the same Creator. Our prints, non-replicable, keep us entirely unique yet give us away, register as “identity,” though no print-reader can ever know me, as none can know the secrets of the story-keepers of the sea.
I get lost for a while in a different time and place, lost in the intriguing details and textures in the muted colors in the calcified, granulated, and liquified elements about me. The wall of a ripple, individual drops, each frothy bubble that comprise the vast ocean collide and linger on a partial sand dollar, and I think to myself how priceless are the macromoments…
Next, I happen upon the jackpot. Or graveyard. Or castaway club. Or secret congregation. Or paradigm peaceful, diversity-infused community. No fog when viewed up close, no excuse of unjust obstruction of revelation, even preconceived notions rinsed with salt-water solution. It all comes down to perception. Yet what we see…how much of our past experiences still renders us blind, keeps our perspective shrouded?
The large beach tangleballs tossed about I can easily “see” without my glasses on, but it is not until I inspect them up close that I realize what is entangled. I see my past. Debris, skeletons, corpses, clutter that the waves of time have purposely weaved and wrapped up and expelled from the waters in its natural self-cleaning process. In my palm, I can hold it all, after the fact. It seemed so large and heavy at the time I experienced each symbol artifact. Droplets of seawater evidence this present expulsion, not even dry yet. Have I added just now to it with this cleansing morning coastal visit?
I take my time on this walk through nirvana, sand grains sparkling like crushed diamonds, priceless like the partial sand dollar, the dusted-jeweled surface soft as sugar with the clouds kissing the surface of earth. I think I see forever, though nothing is clear. I am thankful that what’s behind me has also disappeared. In this muted moment, I feel the celestial peace.
Perhaps limbo is not what we think, for I wish to be suspended for some time in this world of in-between. In between my past and future, in between reality and dreams, in between the highs and lows, snuggled in between these muted sheets where time itself lullaby-sings through the sound waves of the sea. I half expect to see holy spirits from the past and future; I would not be scared for such an encounter. There is no fear here, no extreme emotions, just the sweet, soothing serenity, the peace I knew existed. I wonder if we can take it back with us, have it emanate from our pores, after walking in the clouds so close to heaven’s door, no bright light in sight upon these non-printed, angel-visited shores.
Laura Denise 