Toes at the finger’s edge, heels sinking, eyes splashed with light, lungs full to bursting with sea salt air, ears rushing with the roar of rhythm, the planet is breathing and heaving around a bound body and the worst of it breaks up slowly and ebbs away.
The ocean hands you the keys and the permission to loose the locks, it unfurls and unwinds the ropes of trial and error and folly, twisted and tangled in the deepest recesses of your cherished apprehensions, your garbled nonsense. It seeps deeply into the grim forgotten corners and scours the grime with salts and sighs. A body gradually lightens, unfolds, becomes hollow-boned and free like the birds spinning and singing above, skittering on their toothpick legs around your feet.
Come to the ocean with your baggage, your binds, your blood and your bloodlines, hurl it all into the great wild abyss and breathe. Breathe out the muddled mornings and the manic midnights, the backwash of memory and all the clotted language. Push it all, heave it all into the vast endless sea that will absorb the weight of the world and never bat an eye.
Take your whirling mind, your child mind, your monkey mind, and tip it into the wide wild sea. Spill it all, dip and rinse and spill again. Lay it flat to dry in the sun that inhales the entire sky above you, offload an eternity of woe and fall, silently, into the dry warm sand. Nestle your bones into the earth. Sink, empty and alive, calm and clear, and wait. Wait while the crimson blossom grows behind your eyelids and warms the very center of your brain, the kernel of your being, the perfect pure bead at the beginning.
Turn your back on the clashing horizon, the kiss of sea and sky, take your clean and empty vessel back into the world and fill it up. Pack it with gales of laughter and rivers of tears, grief and relief and the leavings of a modern life. Add love and fear and blood and guts, killings and kindnesses, pennies and posies. Steep it in alcohol and butter, baste it and bake it and — when it’s done, when it’s well and truly finished — bring it back to the earth’s edge to purge again, offer again to the endless and bottomless ocean that will swallow whatever you give it and never tell a soul.
There’s healing in that edge if you give everything you’ve gathered.
Here’s my hat if you’d like to support the artist. I’m practicing the art of asking.