Headlong I breach the crashing wall
of water.
Soft. Pliant. Pierceable.
Yet substantial. Strong.
A contradiction?
It whips my body sideward,
this ocean.
I rise in the nick of time
to be concussed again.
Once. Twice. Relentlessly.
Delight! At each crashing.
Holy sea!
The sun smiles at us both:
Sentient fool, knowing nature.
Both the made and the Maker.
For that is what this is.
This game.
Each wave a touch of grace.
Each dive a warm acceptance
of Divinity’s gift.
And as I roll within
this caress,
I feel Love’s joy arise,
carrying me deeper
to who I’ve always been.
Under Christ’s Mercy,
Brent