27/05/2026
I sit beside the breathing tide,
Mesmerised by the silver ripples
That scatter moonlight into fragments
Like memories returning gently to themselves.
The ocean does not rush my healing.
It speaks in ancient repetitions—
Wave after wave,
Soft enough to soothe the soul,
Strong enough to shape the world.
Mother Nature holds no judgment here.
She gathers fallen things—
Broken shells, tired hearts, driftwood souls—
And smooths them patiently beneath her waters.
I listen.
Not only with ears,
But with the quiet places inside me
That had forgotten how to feel whole.
The wind moves through the dunes
Like the breath of the Creator,
Invisible yet everywhere,
Touching every leaf, every current, every living thing
With the same sacred hand.
And suddenly,
The boundary between myself and the sea
Begins to dissolve.
I am not separate from the bird gliding low,
Nor the salt carried through the air,
Nor the tide pulling faithfully toward the moon.
I belong to this rhythm.
To this vast and living song
Of water, earth, sky, and spirit.
The ripples widen endlessly outward,
Touching shores I cannot see,
Just as kindness travels,
Just as pain travels,
Just as healing does.
So I remain beside the ocean,
Listening carefully
As the waves repeat the oldest truth:
You were never alone here.
You have always been part
Of the great blue breathing
Of creation itself.
