The Wave

Who knows the secrets of the great deep?
The hiding places of ancient life still unknown
to the human eye? The outer reaches of space
are not the only discoveries yet to be made.
You and I play on the beaches with buckets and
shovels, sandcastle makers who watch the tides
roll in and out, churning and smoothing,
churning and smoothing, fashioning its own art while
laying low what we thought indestructible.

Who knows the thoughts, the mind, of the great deep?
The wave? Perhaps. It is not the ocean of itself,
it is a single note of the eternal song,
one word from the encyclopedia of life,
a single taste of the sweetness that seems
inherent in the great mystery.

There was once a revealing of the Silent Deep,
a wave upon the shore where children play and
build their castles. For a moment, we frolicked
in the wave’s charm and invitation, but then
it was gone. Back to its source. Back to the
place of sending. And yet, mystery of mystery:
the wave returns again and again,
bringing a hint of the deep, a glimpse of
a deeper consciousness that reaches out in an
eternal rhythm, something we call life.
We play as children on a shifting beach, always
aware of the wave’s revealing, joyful in its song,
unfulfilled in its absence, renewed when it returns,
sent by the benevolent depth
that blesses again and again.