The Rhythm of the Rowing – Part 2

It's time to go back to where I started, back to where my feet feel the ground, where my skin is my skin and it fits perfectly.

I say good bye to the castle. It was a dream I was living in. I say good bye to the sky, to shore, to the rocks and the sand where I drew my heart. I walk to the rowboat, catch my breath and climb in. I feel the fear of my feet leaving the ground, that they love, that they know.

I take the oars in my hands, not so foreign this time, but not welcome -- nor will they ever be. I push away slowly, hearing the waves hit shore with slap. The noise of crash in my ears is a frown. I calm myself, and I drift out and in again like the waves. I find that place inside where I don’t care about progress now. I find the stillness of myself and use it to steady the boat as it moves slowly off.

I’m back on the water, but not rowing. I’m on my own, learning to breathe on the sea. I'm getting used to the rocking, getting used to the loss of ground once more. I know this place, this place without. I let myself find myself. Then I at last I start to row.

The rhythm starts to take me, to take me back where I am going. I am the rhythm, the rhuthm of the rowing. I am the going. Going is what I’m about. Every stroke that I row is a little calmer, a little sweeter, a little closer to my destination, the place I left whole.

The rhythm of the rowing will take me there. I will find my sky. It will hold the sun that rises and sets on my old oak tree. I’ll find the moon that was hung to keep me safe when I sleep. I left the castle and the sand and the rocks on the shore of the dream that I had. It's time to go back where my feet feel the ground.

But I won’t forget the translucent light of a white tulip an angel left for me.

−me strauss Letting me be