Makeshift Cosmos

Skin is the most beautiful barrier that I know of.
On the coast of Belgium, I strip bare and let my dignity disperse with the wind. I taste freedom, ether dribbling down chin. I let my bare feet splay like cats claws on the beach.

Always, I am full to the brim with the inheritance of my culture, inextricably located,
except for… right now.
Something’s different. There is nothing manmade or manufactured separating me from my own savage and visceral existence.

I call to my friends on the beach, modesty keeping them anchored to patch of grass. I don’t blame them, but I do my best to convince them.

“Hey, you guys are SERIOUSLY missing out! And don’t worry – this is profoundly non-sexual!”

This ocean is endless, this sky is so big its mildly upsetting.
One long road from Orionʼs belt to my shoulders, coursing through forearms,
plunging down out of heels, feet planted in the handsome sand, one verse in one canto of the infinite narrative.
And then? Enter the North Sea. My whole body. Put all of me into the water and almost disappear in the deep places.
In that moment, there is only this irreducible flesh keeping me afloat, dense and energetic, north star, tiny speck in the incalculable dimensions of the universe.

My body is the thin corridor of the hourglass of existence, Pouring through me at lightspeed, subterranean oceans underneath, and vast skies as backdrop.
This cosmos, plunging into my abdomen, I am lightning rod.

Come with me into the water. PUT YOUR WHOLE BODY IN THE WATER.

Maybe that will mean something. Maybe that will change us.

Castaways and vagabonds, often angry, scared kids, dharma bums, desolation angels Coagulated dreams, Tabula Rasa, a miniature disaster just waiting to happen.
Our expectations that betray us, how very maddening
Every day overwhelming, when we try to understand it.

Rush in breakneck speed, brace for impact,
or miss the party, miss the mark, miss out on the action.
Only so much space in our heads, only so many hands for this day, demanding.

Always running, running, running from away from our patterns,
seeking to fill our void with more of whatever we think matters,
that special substance, that special someone, whatever shadows we harbor,

that next accomplishment, work just a little bit harder, run a little bit farther,
Passion burning itself out like Romeo and Juliet, that tragic bargain,
channeling our own flagellation like desert fathers,
epiphanies ablaze like the early christians becoming martyrs.