The swell surges, rising,
Shaping the waves face with a
perfect peeling that curls
into itself, exploding, and the
white foam rushes roaring over
the back-dragging sand-sucking
liquid inhalation of the sea, before
sliding down the running shingle
dizzying my gaze and
lightly swirling, cold, around my feet,
paddlers, sinking into the transient surface.

The spent wave dissolves.
My eyes follow the streaming away
into the next wave rising to the horizon.
From somewhere out there, these forces came.

I see no start to this moment,
and here is my life back,
from the beyond
and the back of beyond comes alive again,
bearing the scars and flowers of experience.

But no source.
Endless am I.
I cry out, and crying,
spread the flowers upon the sea,
where they float together,
an island.
I feel it, an island of warmth,
dedicating the empty spaces to joy.
I dissolve.
Soft golden sun-glowing
bright, beside me,
Facing the setting sun,
a golden being, hands folded,
absorbed in his soul.
He opens his eyes and I am inside.

– Abichal Watkins.


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