Weary feet sinking into dark demerara sand, and the sweetness pushes up between my toes. Waves crashing and rolling unstoppably to kiss where my legs and ankles meet, soaking the joining places. Wind whispers stored in abundance in the emptiness of scattered hells, softly saying, “the sea, the sea,” remembering all the forgotten words of Iris and all the writers who have stood here before and listened. And you, dearest you, cross legged a little way back, cooking breakfast on the brazier, looking over to where I am. The smile that breaks into dawning across your face, lights up the sky, and catches the dull ache of my heart in your net, lifting it, like the seagull suddenly caught above us in a thermal of grace.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
Photo from Pixabay
I sit, hugging my knees on the concrete, the hardness raw with discomfort. I am here but not here, not wanting to be part of the bustle that isobars around me and flows past in a stream of busy-ness. Unusual and so ignored, somebody-else’s problem hunched on the uncaring pavement.
They all pass in oblivious haste, but as I blink open teary eyes, I can just see, over the lip of the overflowing rubbish bins: a pebbled beach, and beyond that, a watery cobalt expanse that reaches to the sky and seeks out all the edges, that rocks back and forth just like I do, sounding like the breath of home.
©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015
Sit here and shore up, lotus-like, suspended on the cusp of reality, on the tide-line, the meeting place. Open your eyes to the hand full of rasping grains, how many are there? A beach full of Abraham’s descendants, a palm crossed in gold. Hold and desist from your counting, your measuring, your feeble attempts to understand. Simply let go and settle as the sand flows through your fingers, knowing everything that floats here to you on the waves is gifted. Everything is welcome, for a lifetime or a moment, each piece of jetsam has its place and purpose. Sit with open hands, lifted, open mind, waiting, open heart, ready to receive.
Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015
Free and wild, newly released, here you stand still at first, on the edges of the ocean, where the sea meets the shore. What is there to do then, but close your brown eyes in wonder, let the salt tang whip through your mane, and bow your head, ready to charge at the future? Run, canter, gallop, the wet sand flying up behind you, the curves of tide seeping back and forth over your hoofmarks. Raise your neck and whinny in the pleasure of vast fresh horizons.
Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015