Until Tides Do Not Matter

A bit too far down the beach. Sand in your shoes.
Aches in your calves. Around the bend
out of sight of the last of the summer tourists,
The reeds swaying in the wind
like stoned crowds singing with the Grateful Dead,
far enough there is only rustling, not music.

You sit. Content. At peace.
No matter that it will pass,
that you will return to the noisy complex world
with its distractions and competitions;
Its desires dressed as needs in colorful costumes.
Never mind your age. Your age and aches.
Never mind all those things that claim mattering.

Most of them do not.
You matter. Save yourself.
The woman you love matters. Let her know.
Your children matter. Your few real friends.
The God who makes it all possible matters
and it is simply easier to find him here,
where the waves beat with your heart,
and the wind whispers in the seagrass.

Each year, you need this more.
The quiet. The time away.
You are weaker as you cross the next decade,
and have come to understand just how much
quiet you require to push past the noise.

And that is why you are here.
It took you long enough to know it,
but now you do. You are certain for the first time
in a long life. To push against the noise,
a reductionist who cuts through the walls
and lies and anger, the twisted words and
pretend values. To push through it all
with words of peace and love. Even,
and maybe most especially, when
they are words so few wish to hear.

And so. You sit. You breathe in the tide.
You breathe out the tide
until tides do not matter.

About this poem

Inspired by a conversation this morning with a friend (Hi David!). Peace. Politics. Values. Lies. The fight to stay true to oneself in a world that wants you to be anything but what you were made to be. About the fickleness of culture and our place in it.

The photograph was taken near Race Point, near Provincetown, MA.

Tom