Cassandra Tribe - The Kundalini Aria (poem)

Love and Words


The Kundalini Aria

(for the Lady S)


The Sea can be unforgiving.

It gives and takes,

ignores what we believe

and never bothers to explain a thing.


We are left to create stories,

to convince ourselves

we influence currents and tides,

failing to notice how the water within,

bows to the rule of the waves.


Every law we determine to contain the sea,

is washed away, erased from memory.


How tenuous our floating means.

How primitive the steering.

Oars we brush across shallow surface deep.

We glide over what cannot be seen.

Our feet planted wide,

as if on land,

ignoring the cold lap at our feet.

The maps we draw, created from nothing,

in all waking faith we keep,

and plan our course as if the Sea

will obey our dream.


I can see you just ahead of me,

Or are you behind? It is hard to tell

where wakes entwine or break.

We push our boats against currents

that veer and branch away.

While one holds balance in cross tide's rock,

the other to side sways.

 We touch oars and catching them -

find  a moment's relief,

until arms tiring, we let go

to drift along, close but apart.

My boat is meant for me,

and yours is made for you,

The wood pitched with memories.

Should we steady and step from one to join,

one would then be lost and the other sink beneath.

Of this puzzle, we winnow no solve.

Yet determined, we steer together,

close but apart on the Sea.


The sun rises and then sets.

Circle each other we still.

Touching oars now and again.

Calling out and listening

when vision fails.


Rain stops. Fog clears. Night lifts

and the sun pours down to mirror the wave.

You pour over charts, sure there is land.

I listen to the wind and try to reveal,

which course it is that we should sail,

both of us looking for a way

to leave this distance between.


We touch oars now and again,

stopping the drift,

and despairing our stories that all love needs land.


On soil firm we encountered.

Lips soft to neck pressed,

on a path worn to sea led,

did darkness become light

and light becomes depth.

Parting we thought with tales of hope,

of stray winds and currents sailed,

to land again and let love's harvest begin.


Before your boat to horizon met

I found my own and to sea gave,

Following your wake, calling to you to just - 



Yet catch you not, nor you me

No matter how many ways

we steered to regain.


The Sea, they say, is a woman.

Full of wisdom and guile and passion unchained.

Perhaps that is why our land-tongued stories

Always speak of the unexplained.

Of a Sea that should be feared.

Of a Sea that should be won.

Of a Sea that should be treated

As if it were the Devil's ground.


We touch oars now and again,

To keep the distance from growing too great,

despairing our stories

and sacrifices to fate.

 We touch oars now and again,

and hold on until our arms give in.


It is the sun.

It is the Sea.

It is this nearness of you

And this emptiness beside me.

It is the gathering storm and the rising wind,

that dares me to think, not of plans made from dreams,

but of what may be another course to weave.


We touch oars and hold tight,

as waves rock our boats with gathering might.

I am calling to you.

I am singing.


The Sea, is a woman full of wisdom, guile and grace.

All to nurture errant child.

The one who won't listen.

The one who won't believe.

The one who demands an explanation.

The one who wants to know everything.


She must hide within the language of the waves,

the truth that what was, is not all there is to see.

For all our looking, our charting and plans,

we have failed to see, 

we have nowhere to go, for we are already where we need be.

Twined together on currents that snake.

The water surrounding is of what we contain.

Our bones are not of earth,

but of coral made.


We touch oars,

One a top the other and with both hands,

Hold fast to our joining beam.

we step together,

we choose the Sea.

There is no more distance.

Our boats float away.

The world above recedes,

but you 

are together with me.


Sinking below the storm we find not end,

but the secret She knows of how to begin.

The world we floated on is nothing more

than a reflection of the real, of what lies below.

The boats we could not share were made from fear.

All the time we were scared of drowning,

we failed to notice we had no air.

Here, beneath the currents,

The sun is strong, the air is sweet

and love, rejoices in our embrace.

How could we have known?

That our boats kept us from the Sea?

How could we have known that life is within the depths,

not above, drifting on waves?

How could we have known?

Except for having loved enough,

we dared to choose the Sea.





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