The sojourner

I grew up on the coast metres from the high tide mark, where spring tides would often collude with a full moon and force us to move everything to higher ground or relocate to the village around the cove. I learnt to swim there, to read the currents and tides, the weather and the seasons, because it was that, not us, that directed all activity.  I learnt to fish, to sail and to observe. I observed the paradox of a world fixated on oneness – one history, one voice, one truth, one God, one lifetime, one human, when all around me I saw the blur of connection, interdependence and mutuality. I learnt about detachment and entanglement from rock-pool creatures and plants, and suspect my life has been an oscillation between the two, never actually finding or settling upon equilibrium.

Belonging was a garment I had to fashion and sew myself – the skills for such production were not my birth right.  I was barely clothed.  It took many years to find comfort in exposure. Eventually I welcomed the wind and rain as much as the sunshine – the light and shade of life, the offered wisdom of yin and yang, if I could summon the courage to acknowledge and accept.

Maybe it was this that led me to the nomadic life.  A life where I could skim the waves and ocean currents, or retreat to high ground when the moon and tides were against me. The natural elements that once ruled my early life were now in charge again.

Re-connected, re-membered, re-purposed.

Makara

And then I read…

As I remember …

Mirror