"...toward the Otherworld I dream, yearning to be free..."
Water
Seven Times Under
Image by Dick Verton
Last summer I was blessed to be able to attend a workshop entitled ‘Awakening of the WarriorSage’. Located in the Canadian Rockies near Calgary, Alberta, it was one of the most intense and rewarding weeks of my life.On the opening day of the event, our teacher led us out to the shores of the nearby lake where we performed a cleansing ritual, not unlike those performed at Varanasi in the Mother Ganges river. During that time and the days following, I had a particularly strong connection with water, and to this day I can recall the feeling of cleansing and vibrance that came over me as I went beneath the surface of the waves.
Seven Times Under
Sometimes she washes over me still
Just as the first time
I went under her silvery surface
Her chill breath cleansing every inch of my skin.
The ever-present drone of
The Great One replaces
The now distant din of all that went before,
Until I rise and
My ears fill again with World as
Prior moments run down my body
Back to meet her.
Moonlight bends through murky mirrors
Again I go under,
Now with eyes open to reflections before unseen
Fragments of my life suspended
In the shimmering waters.
With each following immersion and breach,
Seven times under,
A part of me washes away
And she receives me
Without resistance.
Present to this moment of cleansing
Into her arms
I entrust all that I am.
Even now as I gaze upon her
From more distant shores
She washes over me still
Her breath again caressing my skin
Ever ready to wash again,
The illusion away.
What It Means To Be Wet
For years now I’ve stood
along the edge of this river.
The shallow water shifting over
pebbles and sand, playing
games with driftwood and fallen leaves.
Watching, wading,
here I’ve learned part of Her story.
But sometimes - when no one is looking -
I’ll lay down
and pretend that
this
is what it means to be wet.
As I lay here, submerged,
I hear Her whisper from
further out.
Her long, cold fingers invite me
to deeper waters,
yet I still hold
to roots and branches
along the shoreline.
I have sometimes believed it to be enough -
this hesitant immersion -
though, in truth, I cannot call it
surrender.
Her wells run deeper
than my willingness in wading
has ever shown.
Today, instead of clinging to the rocks,
I’m letting go.
Look for me in the ocean -
I’ll be learning to swim.
West Latta - 2009
Recent Posts
