Promise of the Sea
O to live near the sea
in that salty air –
where every evening,
there is a chance,
just a chance,
that you will make your way on the morrow
to the sea’s edge, and…
…walk barefoot in the sand,
feel the break of the surf reverberate
in your bones, listen to the cries of the gulls,
possibly even spot a harbor seal
bobbing its head above water, if briefly,
instigating in you a moment’s communion
with the unseen depths below.
Maybe you will get your feet wet
and remember how intensely fun it was
when you were little, to run screaming
with excitement from the incoming waves,
only to turn and run back towards them --
over and over.
And. O to die in the sea.
Sink into her deep blue, enveloped.
Why does this feel in my imagination
more rapturous than tragic?
The sea breathes me.
Alas, I live inland and this promise
of the sea on the morrow,
whom I love like a mother,
is not to be.
This poem was written a few years ago after a memorable trip to Nova Scotia. Since I haven't published a blog since 2014 (!!) (not very good at keeping up with my website), I decided to pop this in here to liven it up a little.
Since I last updated the site, I've edited several articles and three books, one an amazingly insightful and useful book for people in recovery called We're Not All Egomaniacs: Adapting the Twelve Steps for Alcoholics with Low Self-Esteem by Beth Aich; another called Playing and Praying (not yet published) by Rebecca Wildbear, and a third, soon to be published by New World Library, also by Rebecca Wildbear, titled Wild Yoga: A Embodied Practice of Initiation, Veneration, and Advocacy for Earth. I will be so excited to see Rebecca's books in print, as they are powerful, profound, practical, and timely, and if engaged with in an authentic way, they hold the promise of transforming not only our individual futures but the future of our planet.