Coming to the beach is difficult for me. The waves wash away all thoughts, but it is not a silent contemplation or a romantic reminiscence – there is no uniform drone, but a constant crash, a constant pull back to the now. You have no choice but to face what is stretching to be released – pain, poetry, disillusion.
There are wave patterns to the sea, a sense in the maritime ecosystem, but amongst this there is a storm of sand, a battering of noise, a randomness of crashes. So it is within me as I recognize my controlling side, my defenses twist and shout, lash out and look for another victim.
Dulled into the expansion of the ocean, and yet battered by the constant waves- am I awake? I am here. My soul has just begun to reveal itself in this new environment/form and already it is time to go.
Is there enough of me to fill this grand sky? Do I need to at all? Is it sheltering? Is it an invitation to wonder, to forget myself, to just be in presence, in admiration, in reception, devotion.
Corresponding, I can perhaps find the words, the color, the sentiment. Bring the turmoil in me down to a simmer, find a little of me that is able to respond, to recognize the awakening. Ah! To be barefoot for a week. To move around from lounge chair to hammock to bed. From book to sky to horizon. From sand to water. From food to yoga. From games to drinks.
-Troncones July 2023