BRING ON THE DELUGE

Ferry Crossing / 2022 / Photo by Russell C. Smith

They say blood is thicker than water. I say water heals and water destroys. I say show me the wonder of this world. I say bring on the deluge. I swam in an ocean of blood, before emerging into the light. Once on dry land, my first sip of water was an epiphany. Not salty or crimson red, this clear element flowed through me. Before I could form words, I remember awakening on a blanket where I reached out and felt cool beach sand, under pine trees. I sensed the salt air, coming from the Gulf of Mexico. The bloody nights were yet to come, and days of wonder called to my saltwater body. Water encircles our planet. Rain pours down on crops and fields, and city alleyways. Thundering summertime rain, and freezing winter rains. Frozen water crystals are what’s left on the surface of Mars, from a long-gone civilization. Blood red – I felt the scars of growing up, while hurting or being healed. The bloody sunrise let me know there was a deep red energy flowing through me. Following the trail beside the river, I learned how to stay true to myself. Deep in the watery mythological past – our planet was covered by an engulfing flood, after the deluge came. Running through us like a red river, made of primal visions and half remembered forest chants, the past is carried by the current – our blood flowing under bridges and around jutting rocks. Saltwater tears fall down into the vast salty ocean of time, and finally, the timeless world has arrived. They say blood is thicker than water. I say let’s outrun the deluge. I say remember what was buried deep inside long ago. I say bring on the deluge. I say we’re the ones that have been called to live in these times. I say listen to the faraway stars as we walk along the shoreline.