Homesickness

How long has the sea known about saturnine heartbeats, sea urchins prickling the soul which neither Calamine, pearl necklaces nor murmurs from stars can heal?

Visions of my sea and this ocean paralyze me with ambivalence. Now and then, a wave whispers of what I miss, and dismiss, then, I peek into my chest and notice the darkness of a sinkhole larger than Florida. Like that mediaeval girl buried face down ankles bound so she couldn’t return from the grave, I’m tied to a place I love sometimes, and fear, most of the time, that it will become the lieu where they bury me.

The light of the mind bright as it is, it is not what I seek must be perennial pine trees, bright green, sitting with like companions in the temple of leaves, needles pungent and sharp like swords ready to cut through distractions, seductive thoughts, the honey of a flickering phone calling me to engage with a world of plenty unnecessary news.

It’s late, I tell my mind to be quiet, I tell my mind to be still, so I can hear the voice of the Beloved whispering. What I hear is the body complaining, lumbar vertebrae, scapula, cervical sprain, every part clamors for complete attention. A voice brings to mind that day when at 6 I was scolded for something I didn’t do, another suggests what I should cook for dinner. The force of Samskaras pushes like a tsunami impossible to control. Not the captain of my boat, I fear throwing old patterns overboard could be a crime against creativity. Alone, I try to fight the waves, fail, try again. Finally, I straighten my back, ask aid from the Spirit, still doubting if I will be able to change enough to hear with all this chatter.