“You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop.” — Rumi
“Here’s the challenge: what do you have to overcome in you? What promise have you made yourself? What statement have you said, ‘I will never,’ ‘I will always,’ whatever it is? What are those things that you’ve said that you need to rescind that block you from what you need to be?” —[T.S.]
dream, recorded 2014.03.26:
I was in the ocean
Belonged to it
Was part of it.
I was cutting through it — not exactly swimming because where I met it, there was no border between us — on my way to somewhere in a great rush, but unafraid.
There was no land on any horizon. The sky was dark and so was the sea. I was nearly enjoying the quickness of getting there.
In the distance, I saw a huge cruise liner and went toward it, knowing this was the thing I was there for.
(It was black and dark blue, a horizontal stripe of each, with a very thin orange stripe between the two.)
As I got closer, there were sharks in the water, black ones. And there was no element of fear at all — not even a no-fear or determination feeling. They were like part of the water to me. And I leapt over them as I would come to them, thinking them slow — and a little sad and dull — but kindly.
I went to the cruiser. It had gone off course. (There was never a thought to people, only the ship itself.) I went steadily to it. Only, when I got to where I touched it, it suddenly seemed immense. And I wondered if it was too large or if it might even fall over onto me simply because it was off course.
I realized I couldn’t see sky. And I couldn’t see water. And the enormous thing creaked over me.
Not to forget myself, I concentrated on the water and felt it in and out of me. And I knew, however enormous this thing was — blocking out all I knew — I was still bigger; there was more.
I went quickly the length of it, to its bow and paused again at the towering silhouette now against the black sky. It moaned.
With only one arm, I took it by its forward and moved through the water until I had turned it 180 degrees from where it had been drifting. I let go. After a moment, it started moving again, like an aching whale that had been beached.
And there was a dark orange sun beginning to show itself — making a thin line on the landless black water. And I felt water on my lips while I watched it go.
Parting At Morning
BY ROBERT BROWNING