Unmoored

Cabot Trail Road, Nova Scotia, Canada
Photo by Christophe Dion on Unsplash

Wind through my window

stirs memories,

for a moment,

unmoors me.

Scent of ocean,

prickle of sea urchins

upon a shore I left

long ago.

So real I can taste

the salt in the air

hear the ocean’s

incessance.

Then the sea surges

through time

and appears

in tears

storms my soul

scatters my senses

to the waves

and wind.

Unmoored, my soul

billowed by breezes

of time and memory

becomes

emerges from

seeming stasis

begins the journey

home.

©2020 Joanne Young Elliott

Facing West

Image by JoAnn Mangione from Pixabay

When the figures on tarot cards face West

they are looking towards the past.

The past is behind us but ever with us and so

is never really gone unless we forget.

We cannot afford to forget the truths told

of deeds done long, long ago.

But we forget the long ago to cover the sins of ancestors.

We try so hard to keep the status quo.

Status quo: the chains that hold us in a place of comfort

sheltered from the truth, unchanged.

If we remain unchanged, we will stand facing West

and see only the past we want to see.

And when our sight is occluded by a veil of falsehoods

the West transforms into the land of death.

Those tarot figures face our impending death with sadness,

implore us to know how we got here.

© 2020 Joanne Young Elliott