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  • I’m like a fish you see…

    always needing to go back to the ocean to quench the eternal thirst of my pores that yearn to be caressed sweetly with the water’s kiss. I need sometimes too to be washed up on shore, skin left to melt open in the sun, eyes wide and burning with the orb’s glare, feeling the pulse heart-throbbing under flesh. I need to be washed back again and again into the waves. I need to feel my life strong and running upstream. I need to feel the wind in my veins, the currents ebbing and flowing, the electric sea inside magnetized to the pulse of life. The screaming raging ocean sinks deeper into me. I am made more alive somehow than I was before. Yes, this ocean like the big breath of life of the world that breathes me into surrender. Sometimes the thrill of a riptide tugs at my heart. Would it be so terrible to be swept away into this magnitude? At least in death I would be carried. At least in death I would be held, gently, swept along with the life teeming underneath my bones. Sometimes I have a vision of a riverful of bodies, being swayed gently along the banks of some lost civilization, being swept upstream to the source of its belonging. It would carry us somehow back to that sort of salvation.

    If I sacrifice myself to the sea, you’ll find me smiling, even as the water laps gently away at bone. As I come apart I become whole. The ocean envelopes me in love.

    I’m like a fish you see, always needing to go back home.
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