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I could swim forever, dive forever, be here in this underwater world forever. There is something about the motion of it that becomes natural after a while. I'll always need the air and the sunlight, to feel the saline water wash over my skin and through my eye lashes, but there's a reason I was sent here. And so, I swim while I can, rescue while I'm strong, rest when I must. There are times I want to be saved, to give up and await strong arms to pull me from this struggle, then I remember who I am and keep going. I am the rescuer, the swimmer.
Come to me in your summer time, when our laughter is as the daisies in the grass. Come to me in your winter time, when you feel as if ice freezes your heart and blood. For I am your shelter, your guardian, your forever home... always with an open door, the key always in your pocket, and a love that is always yours.
In the wash of the new light, your face takes on the appearance of an old photograph, one of nostalgia, so beautiful. I watch as it brings your skin into focus, not yet animated with the warmth of who you are, for you are still in the land of dreams. And since there is no better thing to do but to bring my body so close that our hearts synchronise, I'll hug you till you wake, when the light is so strong that you come into the present with me, eyes open.
Whatever can silence be? For is there not always the sound of your own heart? Just as with whiteness there is light, and blackness is a canvass for dreams; if there is a soul present, there is always something. And so as the quietness grows deeper and I hear my own steady rhythm from within, I call this silence.
After the blackness of night, Earth's star rises on the horizon, spreading her gold in every direction. She comes in the way that natural forces do, needing not invitation yet feeling her welcome. The light is her gift, bold and free, for anyone who cares to open their eyes in the dawn and watch the world awake. This is our sun, a fire ignited to bring warmth to creation and inspire us to seek our own beauty within.
In that welcome amber glow the time of slower thoughts has arrived, those moments when with open eyes my brain becomes as a perfect empty horizon, seeing, yet content to sit. I feel the soothing breeze, become absorbed in the music of crickets, letting the gentle energy of nature wash in.
In that frozen place, that ice-world, it was as if the sea had frozen mid-wave, curling upward into the brilliant rays, still rippled from the wind. I stood there open eyed, as if a palace could arise by magic. As one moment became the next the cloud and sky pattern reflected in the surface ever so gently and gave it a feeling of motion from my boots to the horizon and doubtless beyond.
Love, it's okay to be a human with a monster mask if that's what you need to survive. It tells me that you're still under there, the perfect child you always were. The problem in this world is the one's who sold their souls to become monsters with masks of skin, with smiles to mimic the warm hearted. Perhaps one day we will forge a world safe enough for us all to be humans with human faces, to be feel at one with who we really are, with our true natures, and with nature herself.
If one has a heart to plunder, to be the wrong sort of king, I suppose a castle is what you need. I suppose if you want so much more than any man or woman has a right to, then you need tall walls of stone... for your castle and your mind. I imagine these people are lonely behind such rocky towers, paranoid as they fill their world with weapons, each as deadly as the last sin they inflicted on the less powerful. How they preach, those greedy ones who sit and guzzle, taking whatever and whomever they please. Yes. I can see why they would need to live in a building such as that... grand and empty, dank with small windows and surrounded by their own filth. It's just perfect.
All the reasons not to do this come flooding in, as if my body chemistry just sent them a blanket invitation. I feel the soft panic that can grow or fade depending on what I do next. It will fade if I back away, but then I have to do this all again another time. It will grow if I let these thoughts swirl into a vortex of stupidity, eating their own tail. Or I can breathe real slow, let the thoughts leak into the ether and be the real boss of me.
Moving through her depths, I become aware of her currents; the sea is more as rivers in three dimensions with no need of banks. In them are schools of the living, the creation that remained in her watery embrace when we land dwellers sought flowers and the shelter of trees. Though to her fish swimming is as easy as breathing underwater, it is no doubt time for me to return to the waves and the boat that awaits, anchored for my return as it rests upon her steady pulse.
There is more than one kind of ambush, you dot-to-dot thinkers (morons) imagine the movie scenes with guns and lots of running. I guess that can be fun if the quarry is sufficiently evil. But we make an art form of it. We take them down from every side, pick their life apart until they are in ruins, then we let them do the rest. Call it a monster-removal-service if you wish, because we are the predators of the predators, the protectors of the mild. We're a sort of societal immune system; that's our function.