Ferry

It was on the ferry

to Clare Island

I was watching that girl

standing beside me holding onto the railing

she must have been eight years old abouts

Upright and in herself she stood

slender, calm and clear in feature

looking over to the distinct outline of Achill Island

Her parents did all kinds of things to her

little acts of care and clumsy entertainment

poiting out jellyfish and boats

mending her hair, taking pictures

nestling on her clothes and zippers

She, in a most graceful and patient way let them

and calmly stared over to Achill and said:

“It is a woman, resting on her back....

her long hair is flowing into the ocean...”

But they did not listen

reaching in their bags for softdrinks and chocolate

while she held firmly onto the railing

saying slowly:

“There are Dream-Savers living over there...

in her belly, gathering all dreams so nothing gets lost...”

And while the boat was ploughing through the waves

that are one aspect of all this unfolding

I saw in her so clearly

that second sort of movement and pattern of becoming

this urgent blooming, this....

arising from inside out

this overflow from the most internal source

this burning inevitable consequence

of unfolding evolution

You will outwit us, Dear!

I dare to hope

oh I hope...