I am fueled by storms and coastal wind as I raise my arms to each and channel them until empowerment rises boldly from within…
But it is in the still and minute, in the soft scent of beautiful, in the trust of subtle, the barely discernible, that I feel the forgotten soothed, those buried-alive non-truths; the golden elixir single ray finding the torn petal coats in those places I am not able to ever reach on my own.
Up close and personal is the only way I know to heal my heart, to feed my soul, and that, I believe, is the path that leads home.
Across the street from the ocean, I reside, at my everyday disposal are the almighty tides, the aquahorizon with no opposite end that blends with the sky, no greater reminder of the bigger picture beyond this life, and it does indeed soul-energize, but I’ve always known the humility of how insignificant we are: I seek instead the intimate inner warmth I find crouched among the non-garden flowers inspecting the finest details neglected and trodden, and through my lens and art, I depict how they feed my heart, shared roots and seeds organically free yet universally tied, turning our faces peacefully to the shared light, the Higher Power who sculpted us both, all, with intention and without society-judged flaws, precision in individuality, every living piece lovingly kneaded, and when the rays find and kiss petals, this is the beauty that stills me breathless, to see in crafted detail the miracles of His Creation and how love was meant to prevail in every season.
Sometimes, I prefer the blur, the softness, of out of focus, where it all becomes muted and fuses with the natural horizon, and even my femininity, graceful and soft-spoken, has a voice among the hushes, my lyrics freed but the language not audible or of this world, for it is my soul who recognizes this celestial light befalling before the sun bids us adieu, never resting, only sharing itself with others too, as this speck of a planet shifts, and upon this ray, I lay this kiss to be sweetly delivered to you.
A detour, soulful tugging, I find myself impulsively knelt again on the white sands before the altar at an end of the earth, surf symphony rising predictably to greet me, but I casually look about for the signs He wanted me to again come ’round… between my toes ancient mountains ground to grains, quartz granules, sugar-soft, appropriate backdrop for the hieroglyph written for me: it freezes me.
So easily, I succumb to the enchantment of silence, save for those waves and occasional sea birds with personal messages calling. (It always baffles me how I can so often have this parcel of paradise to myself…) I stay a long, unhurried while just trying to feel what this enigmatic swirl of sea oat in the sand is all about… Something about curves is always so sensuous, aesthetically strokes my soul… I don’t need a translation; in fact, I prefer this sacredly-carved symbol. I make it my own and add it to my collection of clues leading me leisurely home. It is the journey after all, and I have nowhere else to go.
shifting sands grains unable to be grasped slipping through fingers sieve of my existence footprints vanishing in vain trying to leave an imprint, fingerprints fossilizing
as I watch sea drops dry on shells shells of mankind displayed non-selves on shelves
shifting painted shapes offer to take me away only to lead to the next drifting cumulous cloud lateral when I need to be higher homeward bound
shifting sands I open my hand spread my fingers wider I know what the answers are not to feel the silk is to feel nothing caught but sensory strokes the void in the curve of my palm no trail found to my entrance into the sea
saltwater can’t sting when the wounds are too far beneath the body’s surface
arms open I invite the above in home- sick let me know I am not
I must part ways with you now, dear Darkness; Light is forlorn without its Laura,
my aura is dimming the further I drift in this alluring cradling away from attempts
of putting forth the efforts to swim back up toward Bliss:
I still hope, believe (barely), that it exists.
A parting kiss…
Yes, I know that means I will have to let go, for now, of that dream, but I can keep the parts that were seeded, for weeds they are not; I feel it, in that new spot, how I can nurture it into something beautiful still…
I will.
I return to the isle from a distance, leave a trinket, so it is known I’ll always be near,
Turbulent tempest rises from within, mere earthly matters malignantly breach the borders where the spirit lives, tears mix with the salty sea, Wind whips through as the harbinger singing, assures His army is near my shore. I see the Beacon from above coming for
s h i p w r e c k e d s o u l s
ON ITS WAY TO me. Never was I lost, never forgotten, never in jeopardy of drowning. These truths I knew which led me here, the S.O.S. of my heart He need not hear for He is ever-knowing, always inside, but also right on time, my location always known, sometimes granted though the visual signs that my soul is not alone. The Light so comfortingly warms, and I am homesick no more.
I suppose somewhere along the way, this became about me, this once person conditioned to inwardly mistreat, neglect, bury prematurely at sea,
too busy keeping them afloat in puddles, sacrificing my soul for others,
in the lows between lowers in that life unstable, vows before God to remain (abusive) spouse faithful,
the escape-clause contingencies blurred, repercussions lingering in the years after,
children ten years apart, and always children, I keep on giving, Silverstein tree down to the trunk, instead of remaining to be sat upon, I leave my roots to carry on,
re-sprouting from acorns and seeds to reach the end of land as a sunflower, brazen yet desperate, in the sand to be plucked by a youthful hand
and sprinkled into the surf for the mermaids to collect and bring to the site of where I left myself and resurrect
from Davy Jones’ Locker the Heart of the Sea still alive in its keeper: me.
The ducks and swans gather to greet at the pond where I used to weep.
Donned now in floral dresses and locks long enough to dance freely with the breeze, (he always said neither looked good on me…) the reflection I see is another plot twist in my ongoing story
with an ending yet to be written but full of God’s golden glory, His daughter’s strength ever-growing.
Somewhere along the way, somehow this did become about me. Another struggle lifted, another soulful healing.
In the setting sun, I reflect upon the journey and look so forward to the fulfilling of my legacy.
I will never drown, for you can only hold me down so long, years but moments in the eternity of dawn.
Hope unconditionally floats from the buoyancy of love.
This is my story, long overdue to be self-sung.
I actually do like to sing those soulful songs. (He always changed the station if I even began to hum…)
Laura Denise 