The Harbour

Grey skies hover as a homage to indirect mysteries.

The ripples covet the wood they caress.

Side by side, the ships wait.

Only the winds brood and sway across their bows.

The rains swept their decks of yesterdays journeys.

Idle and silent they stand against the thrashing of the high seas.

They wait out the tides of uncertainty,

On the horizon is the calling lands.

Wayward in the subtle dream, the immortal compass is vivid;

Side by side the ships shall anchor, until the storms have passed.

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2 thoughts on “The Harbour

  1. Recently the Divine Child gave me the message: everything is a door. When I read your beautiful post, Reine, another message came: “everything can be a harbor. And with these two thoughts in mind, this is what spilled out over the page:

    The ships sail, shepherded by unseen winds.
    They are steadied by invisible currents and tides.
    They ride the waves of the captain’s desire to explore
    and to brush the edges of the world.
    And every ship must touch the shore to truly be called a ship.
    For what is the mission of a ship? To carry, to bear,
    to lift, and to hold dreamers and dreams, visionaries
    and their visions, explorers and their wild desires
    to walk through jungles of thickest green
    and villages of exotic fragrances.
    Ships need harbors, harbors of light. Harbors of safety—ports in the storm.

    “And where is my harbor?” the man asked the Child
    sitting in the marsh, like a heron.

    “I am your harbor,” the Child smiled, “and so is the dawn. So is the moon. And so are the eyes of your friends. So are the prayers
    of strangers in churches thousands of miles away.
    So is the song of your heart—so is your heart.
    So is the shade of the willow and the oak. So is the coven of salamanders and owls. So is the smile of the checkout clerk.
    So are the hands placed on your head in blessing.
    by your children—so are your children. So is the Muse
    —yes, and especially the Muse. She is the harbor of harbors. When you rest in her bosom, you will never want
    for anything again.”

    And with that the Child rose from the dark waters
    and held out His hand. “Are you coming?” he asked. “I will take you to my Mother, for I am the Child of the Muse. Come with me, and I will take you to her holy chambers,
    where you will find rest at last.”

    • Kissed by the Muse, the eternal flame spins the siren. Here is thy everlasting light. Bless you dear man, you are an Angel. The most immaculate light comes from your words.

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