The Sea Within

Introspection ~ riddled in holes
In that abysmal depth 
rests abject verse, stuttering
in profound exhaustion
of meaning. The hull
was riddled in holes
of a debilitating
introspection
and she is simply
a sunken vessel,
now, sea within a sea,
someplace the spirits
of the deep find
passageway through a once
air filled hold and
portholes of existence
lining those catacombs
of a saline poetry.

We were at the Assateague Island National Seashore last evening and it was the sound of the sea perhaps or the tiredness of an otherwise lovely day, I thought of sunken ships and also of the dead tree riddled in holes that I took a photo of, at Fort Lee Historic Park. It all came together in a poem that I wish to dedicate to mental health awareness month in the US.

Old memories good and bad are like sea creatures that move through the sunken Titanic of our minds. There is no forgiveness nor forgetting, just a momentary watery disillusionment knowing that the vessel isn’t contained, except in the arms of the sea. It is great to be a ship which sails yet be aware, that the ability to bob above consciousness is available to mere flotsam and jetsam too. Some vessels sail to fish food, others to the destruction of war or the appropriation of conquests, some are simply ambition of harnessing the naturally buoyant, some are ghost ships. There are all kinds up there and down here. Making peace with the darkness of the depths opens ones eyes to the beauty of seeing a buried universe, differently. No one but oneself in the amnion of Gaia, entombed or enwombed, a matter of perspective, I think the illusion lies in floating on murky depths. An eclipse brings about an adjustment of vision to actually see what the light blinded out for a couple of years, melding into the pandemic.

We can’t hope that this world will be anything than it actually is but we can choose to swim or float where we may and hope we never encounter often, that which may be a dangerous lesson.

Given that it is Mental Health Awareness Month in the US, I thought also to share this essay I received at Aeon today. It is about the warped self, on how social media makes us feel terrible about who we really are. It discusses aspects researched in Neuroscience and how the knowledge can be used in an empowering way.

On my playlist:

Meu amor sem Aranjuez by Dulce Pontes. The song seems written for the sea like most Portuguese fados are. Perhaps the sea exists for fados šŸ™‚

Sonnet etched in bark

IMG_20200324_143800

It’s rugged, the trunk of this grand tree
Taller than which I’ve yet to see

And down below, an oval clearing
That could have sported a fairy ring

Holding fort in a mid air nest
A sprightly squirrel tries hard to rest

While this tree bears, a lovers mark,
Multiple sonnets thus etched in bark

Strange times of self incarceration, these,
For the modern humans, habilis

Quaint notions of holding a hand
Do digital natives quite understand?

But the breath of Spring is a grand affair
For thoseĀ  alive, love’s in the air