Poetic Prose

Post 1620. Friday January 19

Let me read it to you.  (I made a little mistake halfway through and added a couple of extra words!  It took me so many goes to record it, that I really can’t face the thought of starting all over again. Sorry!)

 

budhayanti-script.regular

I sense silence. yet all around I hear the sounds of nature. The shingle crackles and grates under my feet, the rhythmic whoosh of the waves fills my ears and the shrieking of a hundred gulls gives a voice to the deserted shoreline.

Here I am alone. Yet my companion, this hidden secret beach, is here to wrap me in splendid seclusion. I am alone but I share my very being with the raw edge of nature.

Here I hear my own voice, though silent. Here my thoughts surround me. Here I am at one with myself yet enveloped by a greater force, one which allows me the freedom I crave whilst lifting me out of myself and cradling me in glorious isolation.

The beach is ever changing. Some days filled with wrath, others tranquil and calm. Some days the sea is an enigmatic aqua, another as grey as granite. I look toward the horizon and see my life uncharted. What lies beyond? Who can tell?

But here I can be myself. Unquestioned, unchallenged. Here I can think, consider, compose.

7 thoughts on “Poetic Prose”

  1. “I look toward the horizon and see my life uncharted. What lies beyond? Who can tell? But here I can be myself. Unquestioned, unchallenged. Here I can think, consider, compose…”

    That’s beautiful. I’m SO on the same page about solitude and the ocean. Listening to its surf actually brings to mind womb sounds…

    Like

    1. What a beautiful way to think of it. I stayed in a lighthouse on Chesapeake Bay back in 2000. Could hear the waves caressing the shore all night. Best night’s seep I’ve ever had. Felt like I was one with the flow…

      Liked by 1 person

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