At Hidden Beach
By Will Tuttle
Our old mother,
Lisping her secret again and again,
Stretches to infinite space,
Her bare horizon line
Veiling the next world.
Like sandpipers, we dart around the edges of this great mystery,
And flitting in and out,
Following the endless ebb and flow of her billions of waves.
They emerge effortlessly out of her,
And crashing, return to her again,
Like the billions of us,
Each of us
Arising and swelling and breaking and subsiding
While at the edges of this
Of one taste
We also flit and dart,
Until somehow drawn in by an unseen current,
We are pulled far from the beach, and beyond the familiar waves,
Out into the boundless and pulsing ocean.
Finally loose in dimensionless vastness,
The old resistance surrenders,
And we fall away and away,
Unleashed and utterly drowning,
We arise in every wave,
In every being,
Living in every life.
A new day dawns—
The ages of gingerly scurrying and searching and squabbling are over.
The ancient mother has finally birthed herself,
And shines with full awareness
In every heart.
Waves thunder and break,
Sparkling in the morning sun,
And little birds dance
At the edge of the sea.
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