Poetry, Photography, Life
Fluid
Fluid viscosity, inner luminosity, where does life begin and end?
Fluid viscosity, inner luminosity, where does life begin and end?
Pulsing undercurrents fan the tides, ride the sunbeams, ascend the spiral.
Is the boundary between saline and air the same as that between flesh and spirit?
As soon as they land on the rocky shore, the jellyfish begin to die, and I think,
that it is the same for us.
Birthed from fluid, we gasp for breath, our lungs bereft of the warmth of amniotic waters, and we become sons and daughters of the earth.
We forget what it was like in the before.
Swimming in circles, boundaries intact, the lack of memory haunts us. Is it the same for jellyfish as for humans?
There is the day, for both of us, that we float into that errant ray of sun and begin to wonder what lies above.
The first human breath, or death amidst the grey morning air, just out of reach of the Mother water — is it different?
And what about the end? Is it the beginning of existence we cannot comprehend?
I walked among them once, tossed ashore on a misty gray morning.
They littered the beach, glistening like gridworks of light, refracting the shallow slant of the sun, each individual released into the depths of silence, the vacuum of stillness after the tumult of the storm.
Fluid viscosity, inner luminosity, where does life begin and end?
This first whisper of this poem came to me while walking the shores of Bandon Beach, Oregon. The jellyfish seem to ride in with the tide and you need to be quite careful where you step. The very presence of these gelatinous beings reminds me of the ephemerality of every moment. For, as beautiful as they are, every one of these beach creatures is already dying.
We never know when or where our last moments on earth will be. I began to wonder what the jellyfish feel or see when they are left behind by their watery world to gasp their last breath? It really does force one to stop and pay attention, not just for the stingers underfoot, but for those precious moments in life that are all too easy to let slip away.
Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem, or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).
Thank you for reading. I hope that you enjoyed my meandering musings and photos.
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Photos and poem ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.
