Local drum circle on Sunday nights: It’s not in the guidebooks, but, if you are open to spending the evening on a nude beach listening to kettle drum, bongo, and tabla beats, it’s worth checking out. After the sunset, about 100 of us exited in a ritualistic procession led by three men wielding torches and lighting our way down a windy trail of rocks. My friend summarized the evening best:
“I finally understand what this whole peace-love thing is about!”
Photograph by author
This poem is about a man I met in a small town in Gujarat, India. His perseverance, humanity, and faith in the face of peril continue to inspire me.
A barren star reflects his spirit,
But a flooded breath drowns his light.
A windy town plunges the boy,
Gasping, he resurfaces a man.
Life anew tethers his own,
Another vindicates the shells of his soul.
Succumbing to her calm,
He sips the air.
Trembling, he wakes.
Her water too icy to birth life,
Vindication takes a dive,
Still, he pays homage to the roots she anchored.
A flooded breath drowned his light,
But her gales blew him ashore.
And as his feet connect to sand,
He is reborn.
No longer does he flail in her starry springs.
He understands that her platform is meant to celebrate life.