“The Feather quivered
in my hand, responding to the wind, it still lives”
I dug a hole in the beach sand this evening, a chair. It was
an oval shape, and so I sat in my birthing chair. The amniotic fluid of the
ocean, salty taste as the red life in me... rock, rocking. I felt cupped by my creation. The
Tern feather I held wanted to fly off into the sky, it quivered so. It could
have had a heartbeat for all I knew.
I returned to a thought that swam into my mind this morning. I am a Barnacle on a Whale.
This personality is a tiny thing that is attached to the Bigger Me, that swims
its own way in the vastness of Lifes Ocean. The soul of me, the Divine me is a
Whale, that simply awaits for a tiny nudge thought from this ego, that holds
memory of who I AM. And then – then she swims another way. And – and I have no
idea what depths I will go to, or when I will come up for air…
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