Tag Archives: ocean

158: Still Water

mf AriKedonpera still water 158

Your deep peace is found in still waters, where rolling waves and whirling pools have ceased, paused momentarily, and the roar of your waterfalls is staying its breath, just for a short while. For this centre cannot hold for long, and is only part of the dance of flowing water, which is Spirit. So we stop, at the height of a pirouette, a slow-mo jeté jetty on the river of life, and see you, and smile. That loving gaze returned and all is set to rights, the wave unfrozen, the breakers roll on.

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

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149: Esplanade

esplanade

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

143: Estuary

143 estuary

Sinking deep, stretching wide, belly fulsome with water, here lies a strange and fertile peace. More comings and goings than ever, a release and a welcome of tides, trading salt for fresh,  Living Water meeting Dead Sea; and yet, here a stillness in the expansive mud flats born at the edges and a freedom in the largeness to be anything and everything, as the oyster catchers burst upwards in a frantic flourish, spooked by movement, a spill of white paint on the canvas of a low horizon. Rainclouds crowding in to gaze at their own reflections in the vast bay, before migrating across the ocean on streams unseen.

A yawning place, opening out for exchange, greeting the foreign, pushing out the excess, learning the difference between empty and full and regretting neither. In and out, to and fro, back and forth, the unforced rhythms of grace are louder and softer here than in any place that was merely river.

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015