Something tells me I should,I must — it insists — try to get a handle on this,And turn my current state into something!Something more conducive to ‘actions’,Actions that at least some others might think ‘productive’.Yet here I am, pencil in hand,Listening to Hildegard von Bingen — well,Not Hildegard specifically,But a choir singing her inspired 900 year old visions-turned-angelic-verseAnd scribbling on paper… as perhaps she did with quill?The waves have been strong this week,Tilting my nose up, lifting me, and making me inhale, deeply,In awe of the power I can feel passing through meHolding me in zero-gravity where my feet can’t reach the ground for long moments,And then,Crashing me down,Onto the sandWhere trapped-oceans pour-salty from my eyes, to drain back to the sea. On the land it seems firmer than the seaYet saturated shifting sands deceive; and mine are certainly shifting.What was, once, ‘solid’, is long forgotten,As the holes in me have changed, from porous to permeable,And in these “now’s” more flows through me than resides within…And the walls keep crumbling… collapsing around me. These once-filled cavities, unconnected,At least provided some certainty —For me, and others who knew where they were and how to tap them.Perhaps — like oil reserves — I reached [...]