Still seas. The water broke in white waves at my feet. It pooled around my hands while coral and barnacles pricked my toes. Little hermits clung to the rocks with loyalty. The turbulence within me . . . the sea stilled by the skies and waves breaking upon me. Upon my breasts, upon my feet.
My mother asks me why so often these riptides pull me into the distant depths. I tell her that the stories of the sea reside violently in me.
I am stilled by the secrets of the deep. God stills my soul beside the sea. Still, still, stills my sorrows and cleanses my raging. God stills me.
Here. Beside the sea. God heals me.
And again and again to remind me god draws me back again to remind me once more that calms seas and fire and so he calms me so. And just as a reminder God draws me Still still stilled beside the sea.