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The Wanting

You come to a vast shore,
stretching out behind you and to your right and your left.
looking back, the distance you have come seems unfathomable,
but you see your footprints in the sand.

“I’ve made it,” you say, catching sight of the waters ahead of you.
the sun warms your face,
a warm breeze enfolds you in windy arms.
“I’ve made it.”

The waves dance as they break,
and there is no end to the glimmering sea.
here you have everything you will ever need,
laying before you,
beautiful,
alive,
captivating,
endless.

You have come this far, struggling through the sand
your trail is clear behind you,
the end in sight,
but an end for which you have longed.

You want nothing more than to feel the water around your ankles,
washing the sand from between your toes,
to splash through the surf and feel your shirt cling to you
to feel the warm breeze even more keenly.
You want to drink your fill of the cold clear water,
for you know that it will be sweet and soft as it moistens your parched lips.

The water swirls across your feet,
bubbling and laughing,
and it is all that you’d hoped for and more.

You jump in, allowing the cool liquid to rush over your head,
blocking out sound and reality and responsibility.

You stand, water running down your back and into your eyes
and laughing, you reach down to cup it in your hands,
finally allowing yourself the drink you’ve been craving
since you set out.

But the crystal spray slips through your fingers,
flowing like silk across your palms.
Water, water, stretching endlessly:
yours to enjoy,
yours to delight in,
not yours to take away.

Suddenly the gentle lapping of the waves is not the siren song it was;
the glittering surface is still beautiful,
still captivating,
but you know now it is only there for you to gaze upon with longing
but feeling refreshed,
faith renewed because you can see it before you.

You take one last look,
drinking in the sight of the sunlight on the water,
the swelling tides,
the thundering foam that breaks with the waves,
and then you turn your back.

You prefer the journey,
for the wanting is always so much better than the having.
You prefer the path of life.



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