We always grasp at something. Better health. Better nest eggs. Better paychecks. Better cars. Better jobs. Better houses. Better bodies.
Our hands are always out and swiping, thrashing in the water, groping as if for a lifeline.
We forget that we are firmly tied by the waist, buckled securely into the boat that holds us up in the water. We thrash needlessly, and make fools of ourselves in the attempt to find something better, something grander, something safer, when we’re as well off as we can be.
If we got what we wanted and plunged overboard to reap the greatness of the sea and swallow it all–we’d drown.
I have my boat. I am adrift, but there’s the evening star pointing me home. I will stay here, a full and steady current beneath me, in me, rushing through me, as I grasp the oars and row.