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transitions

how deep is the ocean?


peeling away layers of friction. wiping away the film of dust.  deeper, deeper, deeper still.  no questions.  no answers.  only this release into the vastness of the arms of Ocean herself.  in and out.

as I breathe in, the waves beckon to shore.  as I breathe out, they retreat again.  they wash the shore, these waves.  and as my body becomes the shore, with each morning walk on the beach, they wash me.  Until I am both shore and waves, both earth and water.  churning.  working together.

In this formless state there are no triggers, no worries, not thoughts, no concerns, no agitations or irritations or fruitions.  No Shuns at all.

Each stone I pick up, each gulls that calls me, each sea glass that glistens, each grain of sand embedded between my toes, becomes a reminder.  “Remember this.  remember This. I am here.”

I could live here.  For eternity.  I do live here.  I am here.  I am this.

And coming back to “home”,  in this world, this life:  hurts.  It hurst my physical body.  It hurts my head.  It leaves me longing and sad and wishful for the inntangible comfort and peace of my eternal home.  This transition feels heavy, awkward.  And I long to go back.  To sink my feet deeper in the sand like a stubborn child and refuse to leave. How tempting.

But then I close my eyes and breathe deeply and hear the waves gently caressing the shore. It is in the sound of my own breath.  and I remember, I remember.

I am already here .

stepping into new skin, after shedding the old.  raw.  vulnerable.  this is being alive. this is coming home.

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