It’s hard to meditate on the tenderness of death while the body’s secret mind keeps blood surging. It’s a bit like the white froth on some distant wave – soft, majestic, impersonal. But it will roll near, and when it does, I wonder if I’ll hear a giant wave whispering my name? Will it feel tender, still?
This touched me deeply, probably because today I feel somewhat close to those waves - maybe the cliffs' beautifully transgressed, thanks
Post a Comment