Beneath the rising Cancer moon,
its silver light cradles my weary heart,
and I feel the tides within—
ancient, insistent, unrelenting.
Old patterns rise like whispers of youth,
their threads tangled with the fabric of now.
I sit in the in-between,
peeling what was from what is,
honoring each delicate thread.
The ocean of my being stirs,
and I feel the pull of a rip tide.
Do not fight, I tell myself—
surrender, swim diagonal,
gently, patiently,
allow the shore to welcome me
in its own time.
Oh, Great Mother,
your watery arms enfold me,
a cradle, not a trap.
You are not to be fought,
but breathed with,
flowed with,
understood.
The waves come and go,
each one revealing a choice—
to resist, to thrash, to panic,
or to relax,
to breathe,
to trust.
Life is pain and joy,
light and shadow,
a vast ocean of all that is.
So I surrender to your rhythm,
Great Mother,
and I let go.
Breathing, I return to the now.
Relaxing, I let the past fall away.
Being, I simply am.
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