The Beach

I seem to come back in human form more frequently these days. Why? Perhaps because there are just so many more of them than there ever were before.

I don’t mind it. In human form I never quite see anything as clearly as in others, but I still know, deep down, what’s really out there, how it really works. It comes to me more as just a lingering feeling than an actual knowing. I do have these moments of clarity, in those short slivers of time in which I’m able to see through the chaotic webs of thought.

And I try to use it; I try to use what I know to help all the others who are blind. I try to help them see, to understand, I try to help ease their suffering. I feel the connection of everything around me, the sun and moon and storm and sea, the people and creatures, the mushrooms, earthworms and moss. Thoughts and feelings, nature and love and eternity. If only they could see that we are all just part of one greater whole. Part of the Everywhere. Perhaps if they knew, then there would finally be harmony. We would all vibrate again on the same great frequency, like we once did long ago. But since, at least with humans, the harmony has become dislodged, discordant, I often feel that it is hopeless.

I try to make any difference I can, even if it’s just with one soul at a time.

I was lucky to spend another lifetime with her in human form. I’m grateful and sad, as I feel it might be the last time. I feel the end is drawing nearer. There will not be so many more generations of human forms to enjoy.

So we lie on the beach in what is now the tropics, she and I, the dry season coming to an end. There’s a shift in the weather hanging in the air, prickling, a little threatening. But while it still lasts, we soak the sun into our smooth skin, see the colours and hear the sounds; the music and the crashing of waves. I run with her down to the shallows, warm waters lapping against a soft shoreline, and we let the sea curl around our ankles and then our waists. I carry our son on my shoulders; he is young and free, his dark curls bouncing as we play. And she, she is carrying our daughter, inside of her, and she glows with the kind of unique beauty motherhood brings. I hope our children are not of the final generation. I hope their souls don’t have to witness that. But I can feel that it won’t be long now.

It has been a gift to share this life with them, these forms. I breathe in the feeling of that moment. When I can see beyond the thoughts, then there are only sensations. There is a perfect, restful peace.

I splash through the water to her, I pull her in toward me and breathe in the salty, citrus-orange scent of her. I kiss her head, our son tries to grasp at her long hair.

You’re very affectionate today, she says.

I think I’m happiest here.

Do you think you would still love me no matter what I was? Even if I were a fish? Or a tree, or the ocean?

You have no idea, I say.