The depth of days
I have been swimming several feet under the depth of days.
Quietude, here, is implausibly breathable; as if this were a place of birth,
and so there were no sense in drowning, even if I discern elements of finality,
every time I inhale.
Then, as I exhale, any apprehensions, riddled, bubble up to the surface,
where they fizz for a second too brief for solution, before they pop,
like subjectivities that don’t matter, anyway.
From here, the view of the sky is bleached; as if the eyes had spread it out in the sun,
stained of a dark cloud here and of a thunderstorm there, and had then taken the plunge
and just forgotten all about it, to absolute whiteness, up there.
Here, everything, even the undefined, comes to the senses like the definition of water,
when it is pure; yes, perceptions are inodorous, consciousness does not have a flavor,
and acknowledgment is transparent.
As for the sounds, what I hear is the hum, soothing and yet stimulating, of meditations, if I keep still enough –
and the reverberations, like an inspiring mantra, of the ripples I cause, when I move.
And then, there is the touch;
this touch, unparalleled, and yet a parallel, in itself, to all things intrinsic, of the depths;
a convergence that will not emerge, unless we submerge, first, into ourselves.
Yes, the convergence of being with the days;
several feet under, yet swimming up.
Always up.
-- © 2008 by Alexandra* ~ OneLight* ® (All rights reserved)
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I'm glad you were able to bring the words, from such depths, to sparkle on the surface of your page.
In admiration,
Joseph
Georg
Love,
Sage
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
hugs
Fee
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.