The Time Will Come

Folly Beach Ocean Sunset

It rained more on my beach vacation this summer than normal.  I’m always drawn to dramatic weather, and the ocean as well, so I suppose the combination of the two worked together to create an unusual synergy in me during this particular thunderstorm.  I stood in the beach house kitchen, the rain pouring on the other side of the windows, literally feeling pulled outdoors.  By the time I reached the front porch, the rain had mostly stopped, but I lingered for a bit, enjoying the fresh smell of rain and ocean air in the dark.  I often don’t understand how everyone isn’t pulled in this way….

The Time Will Come

The rhythm of the summer rain
Draws me out to participate
While others take refuge inside
And I wonder “How can everyone not feel the pull?”

As the drums beat their pulse, I feel it in my bones
My essence is alive
And I wonder how the tourists view it only as an event,
Not an awakening

How does everyone seem to go through life as a spectator,
When to me, each event Is a deeper experience
Of the Divine?

In part, I’m jealous
For it seems simpler to just exist
But then my soul just won’t let me exist
Only on the surface
The stakes are too high

And I wonder how thunder does not instill awe
In all who experience it.
Is it too commonplace,
Or have we lost our sense of connection?

For when I see the lightening flash
And hear the pouring rain
My heart skips a beat,
And I know we’re experiencing
The deepest sense of communication,
Yet only a few can hear

So I drink my wine
And I listen to the sounds of TV inside
And I know the time will come.

It will come.

©SpiritLed 2015

More

The final day of vacation holds a sadness
a knowing that the hermit life created for a time must end
that all the sandy remnants washed upon the shore
which once housed life
now provide enjoyment for collectors

as their broken parts begin to renourish the shoreline
as your broken parts started to renourish while on temporary retreat

Yet the wholeness is still fleeting
as soon as the water washes upon the shore
it just as quickly recedes
and even an extended solitary stay
cannot stop the feeling
of slipping away

And so the melancholy pervades
even as the others play and walk the beach
in quiet confidence of more time

More time –
     It’s what you always want
     no matter the endeavor

More time to hug your children
More time to finish your work
More time to stay still

More –
     Nothing is ever enough

Why can’t the blessed moments in life be enough
     without wanting more?

Each moment is encapsulated in the now, past and
     future are no longer or not yet real

More implies lack, and looking out at this expanse
     you know you want for nothing
     except for More

Each shell you collected is real today but gone tomorrow
     and you still want More

Each day a gift, never to be received again
     and yet you sit, melancholy on the sand
     counting the hours until you must part
     rather than counting the waves, the shells,
     the single grains of sand that could fill up
     an entire lifetime of More

Waves, shells, sand
     they know everything comes to an end
     transition is the only way to sustain life
     they share their wisdom
     for those who are open to hear
     those who dare to turn their backs on More

SpiritLed 2014