Sink Like a Big Rock in a Deep Lake

Splash.
the first rush of water pours into every pore of your skin, and you realize that you finally taste the coolness of a place that you have always longed to be.
This is sinking.
This is sinking through the depths of a night that has always belonged to you; losing your grasp on a reality that doesn't exist; A rock doesn't sink straight down, it moves between the edges of sideways - slowly, indulgently. Tonight is what you make of it, what you say it will be; it is slow, deliberate, unhurried, honest, subtle, boundless.
Here, shiny white horses weigh as much as political victories, your glass of wine holds the oceans of the planet, and honest whispers enter your ears and meander all the way to your soul - stirring, loud as cannons.
We lay in silence as gentle hands prepare farm-grown vegetables.
Tibetan prayer flags and the explosions of bubbles.
Time is meaningless.
My brothers, we have found each others' breathe! We have discovered the forgotten humanity of our own faces. You sit beside me on the edge of a bed, or perhaps the edge of a mountain and we wonder out loud about the intricacies of our own beauty.
Sink. Sinking. Sinking.
Like big rocks in a deep lake.
We are already deeper, our senselessness dissolving.
Your bare fingers hold a slice of tomato; you put it into your mouth and satisfaction sweeps along the curves of your face like a summer rain. From across the table, you are wonderful to look at - you make me glad for vision. Your smile makes me glad to be alive.
Language dissolves into sounds, sounds dissolve into breathing, breathing dissolves into everything; our breathes sound like the wind in Antarctica. We breathe in so much oxygen that it hurts - for an instant our minds remember our precious lungs.
Adventure owns us, freedom is glorious.
We are most awesome as big rocks lying on the dark, mysterious floor of a deep lake.
Complete. Completely lost; completely found.







(Andrew Tipton)