July 10 by The Running Son
☽ the tides ☾
All, at our deepest selves, know the rules of the tides. We ride currents, and objects go by, and turning waters and rocks collide. We drain, and grow into large bodies. We penetrate every rock and root and move deep into the interior with ease. Then we crescent, our cup thin, our waters feeling the molecular effect of being breathed back in. And all creation holds it’s breath then.
Fluidity stops, it’s death, for a season. They that govern water freedom fade to dry sleep, and the gods that play with gravity, and tides, and rocks, these laws, dry and costly, grow inside, to the point of ghosts, a haunting that resides even after dark moons begin to brighten, and let light inside.
The moon cries, and the sea cannot but displace, to capture light falling. All this happening where winter is summer, and all green and growing things desire to assist. But hemispheric laws, and the wisdom of the moon and her cycling smile, know that across the divide, born of a shift in the axis, coiling, a storm–in the dry dry sands of a riverbed beneath the intense polarity of the sun, new life will form. And the moon will pull to herself all waters, and release, forming life where blue sands shifted nightly, and the coiling currents will once again flood the valleys, and the moon will again spread full, and give sight.
And all creation smiles, exhales. And from her breast, will flow milk to renew all young growth. And to the arms of her spreading light, all life will reach. And in her bosom, deep beneath the dusts and winds, atoms shimmer with the desire to transform and become light, and alive, following the laws of cycles, and the strong moon pulls that control all tides.
☀ ☁ ☾
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.