There were crabs and small fish in a hollow tidal pool.
Their life was fleeting temporary memories
into the left behind, struggling into quietness.
How many of us feel this ultimate frustration – that nothing
can rescue us. But sometimes, the winds return
from a place I can barely imagine.
How uncontrolled life is. How arbitrary it is:
Moon-pull or merciless jury; stone heart or mercy. Which?
In the quest of meditation, the heart rests at a dangerous level,
There is a risk of not returning when we go this deep –
into a silence of our own choosing. There is the unnatural
amazement of letting loose and returning as if nothing happened.