At the body’s birth,
nothing is added to myself.
At its death,
nothing is subtracted.
In the silent depths
you know me as Peace –
on the rippling surface, Joy.
In Love’s radiant garment,
I stretch full-length here before you
in the magnificence of my primal state
where the natural perfection of reality thrives.
What you dream of seeing, I see.
What you would hear, I hear.
Can you hear us now?
This luminous song of our Self Supreme
is heard everywhere — a holy hymn
composed of one echoing word
from a world of wild wonder,
a realm with no beginning,
a sea with no shore.
It’s the first and last call
of the here and now, a word
spun forth before any woven world —
one unheard word breaking on a tongue
like no yesterday, no tomorrow.
Just to hear this one thing
is to hear everything.
Before this world was a word
we were already enough, enough
to remember life on land, the land
we renounced in our love for the sea.
I hear you now, hearing me —
your happiness mine, this ocean ours,
every word at last long forgotten.
As Love Itself,
we swim unfettered
in the waters we are made of,
oceans alive within our loving,
this depthless pool of liquid light,
light as the gleaming waves we ride,
the current of our pure happiness rippling
through water worlds, our fluid song-word
of whale bliss echoing within the spaciousness
we fill in our cosmic form, the same form that
blinded young Arjuna in the midst of the battle,
an impossible battle between ocean and wave
that became yet another timeless song . . .
Around the great watery globe our echo spools:
an ancient serenade of simple satisfaction, a hum
along some oceanic promenade of lyrical whimsy,
an invitation to sea dreaming set to deeper diving,
a tryst in time, a twist of grace, a mouth to fill —
no need for any meaning
to the whirling wheels of krill.