For one moment, just a breath, there is total silence. It is the pause between one wave and the next. Each one waits its turn to touch the shore and then the cycle begins again. The sound of the waves in that last little push, before they actually touch the shore, is like the fluttering of stiff lace in the wind.
It is deep into the night and I am listening. Listening to the waves, the pause and then the return of the waves to the mother sea. The moon is big and is bright, it is a full wolf moon. Her luminosity is shrouded in Dragon’s Breath. There is a mystery in the mist, a sense of unknown when the Dragon’s Breath covers the horizon. Sometimes it moves so fast that I miss its journey, until it covers the entire sea. Between one page and another of the alluring story that has me up in the wee hours of the morning, the mist moves.
Even high in my eagle perch I cannot always map the route the Dragon’s Breath will take. So instead, I close my eyes and listen. There are no sounds of humans, no cars or planes, nor children laughing in the surf or parents words of warning. It is the best time of the day. No one else is around. The entire earth is mine in the stillness. I listen to the silence and the murmurs of the Earth Mother between the silent pauses of the sea.
Slowing my own breath, I listen; I listen deeper then the sounds of the waves. I listen beyond the foghorn. I listen deep into that pause between the waves, into the depth of the moments of complete silences. In the depth of that silence, that stillness is the wisdom of the earth, the moon, the sea and wind. In that small moment is eternity.
I listen and wait. I sit upon my eagle’s nest waiting and listening. I am waiting, but I don’t know what I am waiting for. I only know that tonight it is important to sit in stillness. I only know that it is right and true to do so.
