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Sailboats In The Water

“Mystical poetry stills the mind.” ― Bert McCoy, English teacher and writer



Some Eastern religions have used deep attention to poetry as a vehicle for mystical trance, revelation, ecstasy, and divine intoxication. It is, according to some, a way of altering consciousness, of burning through ego, greed, pettiness, and calculation, to arrive at a more relaxed and compassionate state of being.


That process of deep attention may be a bit far out and too intense for some of us, but here we have an opportunity to at least open ourselves to experiencing another's voyage. "Poetry is the human voice" according to poet, Elizabeth Alexander; then she asks, "are we not of interest to each other?"



My eyes flutter to a thoughtful close as I imagine Sail Boats in the Water.


At a glance, you may see the colors of life painting the frame of the hull,


Encasing, not the complete work I had imagined before, but the skin.


Tough, hard, practically impenetrable, to keep the strike of the wave outside.


The shell, protecting, what some might say is its heart.


Reflecting, quite literally, these colors of necessity into the wake.


Some bright, the wake of light,


A shining hope,


The metaphor of day, freedom of despair and dismay.


Look again, foreshadowing if you please,


The darkness, sinking in, no matter how strong we may be.


Dark blues and violent reds of sorrow and pain.


As calm as it may seem at the glance we give to all, with no further care,


The body of water, and each thing it envelopes, is not a work of entire serenity.


I wonder what

My life,


Our life,


Would be,


If we took more than a second just to see


Who we truly are.


Would we be happier?


More empathetic?


The hardships and the doubt, crying the tears of the water,


Colorful,


Essential.


All of us, told,


We must have tougher skin,


As if that will make everything okay.


We cannot remove the colors of sorrow and pain.


They are part of the spectrum, the palette of our life,


Sail Boats in the Water


We spend half our day in night,


And half our lives this way.


We cannot escape.


This is here to stay.


Yet, we wake up the next morning,


To the shining light of hope


The gray haze lifts, dewdrops on grass.


The promising, loving yellows of the sun.


We must understand that the struggle cannot be escaped.


It will pass with patience.


I wish,


In our life,


We could all be there for each other,


through the colors of hardship,


and the light of day.


Look again.


Lend a hand.


Our darkness, our haze, our light,


Comes together to make a masterpiece of life.


Every shade, essential.


Every piece, necessary.


We must love all parts of our journey.


All parts of the voyage, the boat in the water, that is our life.


The crashing waves, and the light of day,


It is all here to stay, but this doesn’t have to be a bad thing.


Our crashing waves,


The bumps in the road.


To see someone come, there for us,


From the violent waves, into the calm swell.


The people who care to take a second look,


To stand on the deck, with us,


Are the people that make a difference in our travels.


Someone to be there.


Always.


For me,


For you.


This would change our world.


The Sailboats on the Water.



Sierra Darling, age 14, poet, granddaughter extraordinaire


(May we, at least on occasion, write or read poetry and Compassionately Embrace All of The Voyage as we continue appreciating those who are standing on the deck with us...Journeying with us to The Good Life. As always, if you are a subscriber, you can reply directly to the email if you would like to send me comments, with love, June)



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