I have been wondering, as I wander the beach at night in search of the core, listing to and fro…what does aroha look like? I listen to the waves; sometimes they have an answer or two, but I have to drown out the poi rhythms that fill my head so that I can let the perpetual push and pull me into a breathless imagining…am I crowning joy or just a little boy again?
I don’t know for sure because that river looks like it is flowing to a whole other ocean’s boring me to tears the hair from my head as I shriek and howl at the moon to wake me up in a hollow shell that I remember being familiar.
I’ll never find heaven in my aging body.
But yah, gender issues aside, or maybe not, I feel like I need to find the answer, because I feel like I should know the shape of aroha. I know so many shapes and I can tell what they mean, but this dream is elusive. It slips through my fingers as I sip the grains of blackened sand through my toes. The throes of love? Throw them into the waves as they crash, a placenta of seaweed and life on speed burning my nostrils of breathable air, suffocating the life that I once had out from the cracks, plunging myself awake as I shake off the fading memory.
“It’s all in the past” I keep thinking, as I sink into the grains of glitter. There is no future, and if that be the case then the shape of aroha must be in the now. But I can’t see it.
I keep turning my head because I imagine it must be somewhere, buried in the shallow quicksand that laps at my feet, drawing me ever into the void, where I wander in wonderment.