The Beach

You sat on the beach, gazing out over the Lake,

the breeze stirring the snow-white hairs of your face—

that face of nobility, wisdom, and love.

You patted the sand beside you, and I sat down.

You took my hand and told me to focus

on the in-out cadence of the waves,

and soon my breath began to sing this way,

the way of the washing in and out.

A little boat approached over the waves

rowed by a tiny old woman wrapped in saffron.

She landed the boat, got out, and sat down on my other side,

taking my left hand in her soft, wrinkled grasp.

At my wondering, she shrugged.

“You know who I am.”

And as I sat so held, the waves moving my breath,

tears welled

and flowed down my cheeks.

More little boats came, and murmurings arose

as their passengers disembarked all around.

And then –

just the ebb and flow of the waves again

and the quiet breath of this multitude of souls,

in and out.

Of every tradition and culture, they were,

and every raiment.

Of linens, of cottons, of silks and rough weaves.

But all was simplicity and silence

in sweet awe of the Lake’s song.

And after this sitting,

this pause

in peace and wonder,

slowly and in silence each rose, taking to his or her small craft,

and receded across the waters.

The old woman put a kiss and a blessing upon my head.

Then she, too, departed.

We sat again, just we two,

until a fierce-winged god appeared in the sky.

He glided to land where the old woman had been.

Perching there,

he probed me with his golden gaze, and said,

“Now do you see?”

A few breaths more

and he brushed my brow with his wing tip,

taking flight again.

And you drew your arm about my shoulder

and pulled me in close

and said,

“Remember, and abide in me, and all will be well.”