When I was a child, I lived by the sea.
I swam in its waters and played on its shores.
Sometimes I would visit the sea serpents
Who lived hidden in the deep.
They told me many tales,
For they were griots, wise and fierce and ancient indeed.
Much of what they whispered
Has given me aid and comfort through the years.
But I have also learned this:
Even sea serpents can lead one astray.
Like all beings,
Sometimes they just make things up.
As a child I lived by the sea.
I swam in its waters and played on its shores.
I watched the birds write poetry in the skies,
Read stories left by crabs scuttling in the sand,
And was lulled by mingled songs of sun, waves, and wind.
When I drifted to sleep with salt lingering on my lips,
I was visited by sea serpents, the wisest denizens of the depths.
Their sibilant sagacity wove through my dreams,
Finally coming to root in my bones.
Now in my waning, I begin to understand.
Ancient laughter echoes through the years,
While the very particles of existence appear and disappear,
All joined in a dance.
As a child I lived by the sea.
I swam in its waters and played on its shores.
Once I dove deep into the dreamland of the depths.
There I encountered all manner of magical creatures
And sat with sea serpents to hear their stories.
They would curl around me to whisper in my ears
Marvelous tales, wise and wondrous and whimsical.
They said, “When you arrive at the surface again,
You will forget our time together, but only for a while.”
I am beginning to remember and often hear their laughter
Rippling through the stars at night.
As a child I lived by the sea.
I swam in its waves and played on its shores.
Once I cut my foot on a shard of glass,
So my blood has mingled with the sand.
But remember this:
We all come from the ocean.
Its salt waters run through our bodies.
Hence if we choose to listen,
We can hear the murmured stories of sea serpents
To guide us on the path.
The fires await in the world to come.
But no, the land already burns.
Beware the floods foretold to sweep the land.
How so, when mountainsides now wash away?
Some gleefully add to the flaming pyre,
Dancing as the ashes scatter on the wind.
Some open the pipes to add to the waters’ rise,
Taking axes to the few available boats.
We want to stare in horror, as they hasten our demise.
No time for this luxury. No time for reckoning.
We can only save what we can.
The task is hard. The hour is upon us.
Take my outstretched hand; likewise extend yours to another.
It was not petrichor, this scent of rain.
The path as I walked had previously
Been dampened by nocturnal showers.
The trees glinted with moisture,
And the sodden ground muffled my footsteps.
No, this was the balm of continued precip
That joined the falling leaves, the cooling winds,
And the shortening light
As messengers all of season’s change.
Glory in the mountains.
What is the beginning of wisdom?
Simply this. To say
I do not know.
Nothing more. This hard thing.
A sentence to utter often.
Practice articulating these words.
In solitude at first if need be, for familiarization.
One brief declaration, then stop.
Listen to what follows.
Open mind. Open heart.
I am come late to build my dwelling.
It proceeds slowly, hampered by age and infirmity.
Lest I get discouraged by this,
I keep in mind that my life antecedent
Has all been preparation.
I now have more skillful means to construct a proper residence
With patience, foresight, and expertise.
The foundation has been laid through prior experience;
The design has been shaped by acquired knowledge;
The materials have been gathered with painstaking care.
I know that I might not live to see the completion,
But that is not the point.
If need be, those who follow can finish;
Whatever I manage to construct will be beautiful and sturdy.
