It’s fast, the rhythm jaunty
there’s nothing foreign in it
but I can’t breathe
like my lungs are craving
complete submersion
and I am drowning, as a fish drowns
in air
the pulse of life has sped up
and I have slowed
down
my rhythm
alienating
the more I try
to join in
the more I
drown, the muse is pulling
I can feel another pulse
it is deep
deep
blue
it is the speed of sand
the texture of ocean
the ripple of one century
after another
it is a forever more wish
it is the silent pulse
the youngest throb of an ancient whale
as she holds the calm
and claims the surface
for a wandering moment
she sees me struggling
you are not of them today
and guides me
down
I navigate my slowness
my steadiness
I pulse languid on the radar
these small eyes
understanding
still rhythms
to those up there
I pulse alone
the surface ruffled by wind and
the chattering white waves
aah but I pulse not-of-them today
I pulse deep
silent
blue
Tags: 2011, energy, meditation, ocean, silence, spiritual, stillness, whale
I wrote this poem after I’d attended a druid camp. After the initiating ceremony where we were welcomed on to the land, I walked out of the spiral labyrinth a different octave from everyone else. It seemed, everyone sped up. And I slowed down. This poem, I hope, reflects this experience.