Being Claimed

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There is mystery and magic to how we are shaped by place, by landscape, by ecosystem. In my search for connection, I am more often met by the wild than the human. I visited a shoreline of a youthful adventure past. The harbor seals and I exchanged wordless stories about the pleasures of swimming in briny waters, sleeping on sandy shores, and being awash in wave song.

Muse of Ages

I come to the ocean with seasonal longings to feel her pulsing power.

She, fierce giver and taker of life.

She, alluring, magnetic promise of eternity.

She could rock me gently, hold me naked beneath a full moon, wash me ashore,

leave me to awaken polished and reborn.

She could swallow me whole, tumble and toss me, steal my every breath,

leave me bloated and stinking of death.

Her cold briny waters surge, roll, crash, flood,

ebb and flow with wane and wax of moon,

eroding land in a slow reclamation.

 

I look into her depths as if into the cauldron of life.

I see the terrifying and seductive reflection of my dark abyss–

the temptation to end this,

to return to the source here and now.

I see the comforting love that is both mine and not mine–

the love that radiates up from the earth and down from the cosmos,

from my root to my heart to my crown and outwards in all directions.

I see the paralyzing fear of the vast unknown.

I see how true safety is found in belonging and embracing.

I see how death feeds the impulse for life.

I see possibility born out of the courage and wisdom gained by those who weather storms, who ride waves.

 

I gaze outwards with no awareness of time, simply watching, breathing.

I listen to her song.

It is a song that calls all travelers home,

a song that reminds us our divisions are illusory,

a song that reminds us we are all elementally one.