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4. The cerulean ocean 


 
The sweet-tasting cerulean ocean is calling. 

     You send psychologists, relatives, priests, faith healers, and
friends to chase me, walking towards the shimmering, rippling waters.
They're pulling me back, saving me from my doom, or so they say.

     Their arms are tattooed with empty sayings like, "Your unresolved 
anger towards your father continues your conflict", "Just don't think 
about it", "Think Positively", "Pray and Have Faith in God", and 
"Things aren't that bad"... 

     You don't understand.    When you dive several hundred meters below 
the surface, you feel the waters still, floating your heavy arms and legs; 
your hair spreads out like seaweed, and there is silence -- serenity,  
the peace of the oceanic womb.   

     The psychologists say I'm "emotionally disturbed" for wanting 
this.  Compare the cerulean ocean depths, to your "sane" city pavement 
covering every living square inch of the earth; homeless urchins 
standing at street corners with needle tracks on their arms; a young
woman murdered between two apartments with tenants leaning out to watch... 

     These are too general.  The cerulean ocean calls me from my ex-lover's 
manic-depressive door smashed on my razor-bled wrists, from his offers of
fellowship because his conscience needs to have salvation from me 
like an imaginary saint, from smashing into his windowpane like a pigeon
caught on the inside of his house, from the ebbing of will 
like a moon-pulled tide far too low and humanly unstoppable that washes me out to 
the refrigerator, from the Satanic mirror gauging my success like
a vampire who bites only those full of blood; from the ocean 
sparkling in subtle destruction, calling me.

     Let the white-foam waves soothe my bare feet.  Don't worry - 
I won't enter the deeper waters.  I feel the connections: the kitchen 
dishes to be washed, the little boy at the library asking for change
to call his parents, the black-eyed susans wanting their watering,
a friend agonizing over a luckless pursuit of a woman, those
I have yet to touch, things I have yet to learn and do... 

     The cerulean ocean will wait, calling.  We will all be swept 
into its deep serenity, eventually.  The time will come.



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