haiku 28 January 19

But for a few waves

That carried me onto shore,

The great seas were calm

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

haiku 18 Dec 2017

A boiling ocean
Waves crashing against cold rocks
Great peril abounds

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

a seaside promenade

The dream started inside a building, which I escaped through a side door that opened onto a street paved with cobblestones. The outside was lit by a bright, white light. With me (on the right-hand side) was as always my psychopomp, as well as a female (on the left-hand side) whose face and features have faded from memory.

Together, we climbed through the open rear door into a automobile that looked like a standard, black Londonite taxicab. It was hitched via leather strapping to four-legged beasts that at first glance appeared to be cats. The driver’s perch had been mounted onto the roof, meaning that I had to climb up through the car’s open sunroof to man the reins.

We took off, rounding corners at speed, and were soon riding astride a seaside promenade made using cut blue granite and featuring an iron railing. People in Victorian-era dress strolled along the sidewalk to our right. Below and beyond them stretched the sea - deep blue and vastly calm, nary a wave or ripple. The vehicle stopped and I leaped off to see if there was a beach at the base of the cut-stone promenade. Using a nearby flight of stairs, I climbed down to its blond sands (with someone or something else in tow), and had just dipped a toe in (to check the waters) when I awoke.

americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan

on mighty Baruna

There is a short ritual that I perform; it's become a habit, something of a norm. I have now repeated it for many years through times that were happy and times that saw tears. When reaching a body of vast salt water I stop what I'm doing, say, “Hello, Father,” then walk to the sea just about far enough that one of my toes gets a taste of the stuff. I try to imagine I'm meeting my dad, and calm myself – feeling not happy or sad – then exchange of water by spitting mine out and taking a bit of sea into my mouth. I swallow it, tasting its salinity, then bow to the brutal but beautiful sea, say, “Thank you, Father,” and go strap on my board, then charge boldly in – always headlong, forward. It was not until I arrived in Bali that I understood to just which deity I'd been so long praying and thanking; soon a friend cued me it to majestic Baruna. He rules o'er the land of the aquatic forces, o'er turtles and surfers, seaweed and seahorses; his gaze never falters; he hears everything; will take a lost child under his sea-wing; will strike now with vengeance, now with perfect calm; does hold every seaman tightly in his palm. To thank great Baruna I find is a must, in him I place volumes and volumes of trust, please join in the habit written of right here and let go of torment and worry and fear.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥