| ... A shorty |
| True North: An ebb of bearings in darkness |
| Copyright May 2002 -hc |
| The beckoning light off the North Shore beach will surely lead me home, but the fog has hindered the searchlight just beneath the Hetica Lighthouse. Old, weathered, by years of desolate neglect - fallen stairs in the heat of yesterdays high winds, and battered crashing waves wash over me in the stillness of why I stand here, looking outward, not only for answers, but to listen and find stillness. Every breath inhaled resumes something new, yet I cannot grasp the shelf of shifting platelets upon this everchanging floor of my life. And oh my gosh, the awe of such change, awakening in the eyes of a wet seal. Staring at me, babbling and swimming, merging again moments later to beckon another hello from a short distance to my left. "Well hello dear friend!" I feel my soul weave and drift, and shadow this light of awareness, hueing obstacles lost along the years. The feeling of all things non-materialistic permeate to what I feel most justifiable, yet sometimes ignored, which leaves me a little more out of sorts as I wade to a sandbar not too far from this shore I call home. My heart cries out, my arms raise to heaven, and I sing to the beat of each lapping wave upon todays shoreline. Cold, wet, and mystifying within the walls I've built so strongly. I look down at my toes sinking beneath the earth, slowly, absorbing the creatures of my dinner. Crustaseans that will go ever so nicely with a fine Pinot Noir as I will soon sit by the roaring fire of my home, ripping the guts out of hidden morsels, savoring the layers upon my palette. So I hold myself transpondent, just for a brief moment, seeking new light just outside the fading northern darkness, as if in a deep flailing, wandering aimlessly, not knowing a single clue of how to begin my way. A dark night of the soul is paralleled deeper than the ocean cries. A sounding board in the saving grace of stepping forward, over hundreds of lines drawn in the sand, time and time again, having no boundary, except in the sands of water and time, ebbs and rhyme, where the tides rise in my true north, holding me in bonded stability. This I know to be true. Looking out directly in front of me, I see all that has always been there, just as welcoming as the wet seal, merging and saying hello in the light of change. Right here, right now, I embrace the sea of the northern light, while continuing to step away, absorbing what has been there this whole time. Copyright May 2002 -hc |
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