Sea me.

Found these notes and photos in my journal from my last birthday out here at Point Reyes, California. I think i was feeling poetic that day, being with my wife and sea. The ocean has a way of Fathering us into ourselves…

  The cool blue virulent enlivening sea breeze of the pacific-father calling of sea-heal and sky, recalling it today into my skin, bones, the why of knowing (St John’s blessings for the older, of knowing; when i was here in youth i was overcoming, only overflowing, but now i rest in wave’s strength/length, peace-You got me in Your Wavelength, the trust of becoming!)- the stones of being, wind washed and sea brushed with time, awakened in stillness-still me as remarkably crisply focused and sharp expresser, tumbler, wave of life, yet… fluid-water surge’s might- a center in the midst of mist-something offering shape, contour-a boundary of being given to those who forgot theirs.

         Teach me to separate the waters with You.

  Stillness (continue to), still me, and help me see and be, my part—I in Thee (Buber’s song), a sunset sea colored pebble skipped across a grand scaled sea surface-or, I maybe, some sort of seamless showcase, the sheer sheen of disco ball reflected in a window, or a simple pebble a boy throws when he’s learning to pitch an impact across the seamless surface of a pond-to make ripples for others to see by, and recall where the fish are, or trace them there/here-or, those bright neon yellow lines on the runway to tell time by, so others know how to land. Make me something like that yellow slabbed runway—someplace where You may land.

  Me, a cascaded tilted lamp like light of some odd flickering sort, gently scattered, or half sinking into glistens, across waters, or wetness itself; a wet series of circles, or rivulets, a temporary importation of life aimed or at least slanted, towards something more…a fluid sign, a wooden post made of water, i suppose; or, a continuous ripplingly direct expression, an overflow of Your Life in me; you wear my personality like a sparkling glove and direct the traffic of the sea through me… a type of yielded might which others might not notice, but which holds firm as micah reflects flecks at the instant of sunset, (that’s its one job)…let me be that type of glistening-a  singularly focused shimmer, one fleck focused on its Source, a refraction staring directly into The Light… until, i’m truly useful in directly reflecting You, until I’m more, and more than me. Until then, let’s be friends. Let’s share a practical light.

 I think of you often through the sea Father. Thanks for letting me also see me. Or starlight on water, calling forth other constellations from the California sea. Or whatever or wherever we are together. That’s what I always wanted to be.