Whispers of the deep.

From the ocean we are born

in death to it we return.

For every tide that ebbs

another flows

breathing new life from the whispers of old spirits as they fly overhead and flower underfoot.

All that we are

all that we are not

Is mirrored in the water if we just take a moment to look.

To listen to the miracle

Of all life.

Of all love.

Of all loss.

Everything in this world is cyclical in nature;

Constantly evolving.

Constantly revolving.

Forwards. Around. Back.

Life. Death. Life.

The vibrations we emit from

our bodies and minds

travel the world around us until they are amplified ten fold.

Each cycle, every revolution,

a point to listen. To learn.

To manifest that which we would like to see return upon the next tide which greets us.

The ocean knows your name

and will speak it until you know it yourself.

It will teach you to sing the truth you were born with.

It will be your voice if you lose your own.

Every now and again, I am struck

with a certain lively presence within myself

that makes me stop and take a moment.

To breathe.

To listen.

To see.

And in an instant I observe life for what it is in

All of its pain

All of its growth

All of its glory…

The simple miracle that we are here

A part of a living, breathing system.

That I am here;

Moving.

Sensing.

Feeling.

Thinking.

All too aware of the delicate web which upon which we all dance.

A world so close yet so far.

Far from form yet close to home.

For your home, for your mother tongue;

Listen to the whispers of the deep…

:: Words by Sophie Angelica ::

:: Photograph by Shakara Johnson-Prior ::