The Question

Take a walk with me,
won’t you,
just for awhile,
let your feet take you
wherever they feel like walking.

I’m not talking about miles away
or anything--
or really talking at all--
just take your shoes off,
let your toes breathe and
wriggle in the sand,
take my hand,
stand at the shore,
let the waves wash away the
stored up stress,
feel the mess float away.

I wonder
as you wander
if you smell the smile of the sea
calling on you to free yourself,
to "be still, and know that He is God,"
to open up and to see this place
with new eyes, with new heart,
with new ears, listening to
words no people speak
(but earth, sky, animals do).
Connecting you to
the world all around you.

You can do this,
if you want to--
that’s the real question,
the one with no right or wrong answer,
no first or second or third place--
it’s not a race to the finish,
to be fat or be thin-ish.
Better ask before time vanishes,
conceals, instead of revealing
those precious little seashells
that we find, pat dry, and
pocket.
Collecting.
Little treasures.

After all,
it’s the answer that begs the question,
What do you want?

Look inside, open wide,
muck around,
feel your way into your choice.
Find your voice, your truth,
your course of action—
it’s all there, right there,
in the seaweed,
rich and briny,
salt puckering your mouth,
waiting for you to discover
what it is you really want to do.

Through the uncertain
that is pain,
through unknotting the drama
of fighting and swimming
against the currents,
of do you, or don’t you?
Will you, or won’t you?

I can’t tell you what to do,
can’t make you do anything--
it’s all up to you.
But I’m here for you, and
we’re all in this to the end.
We’re family,
it’s what we do.
Hand in hand,
standing at the sea,
smiling in the breeze,
gathering our seashells.
Together.
Eternally.

Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Monday, February 14, 2011