Two waves meet body-slamming the other. A loud slap! And like an ignited TNT strip they rip across the water sending salt spray surging, spume tossed high into the air. Bodyboarders ride the backwash into the oncoming wave and pull stunts as they’re catapulted like flying acrobats. Soon, the two waves dissolve into one. Not-two is peace. Momo and I are like these two waves. We don’t know it but we are running straight at the other. But we are the same. Like Rhiannon and Jane from Blue Saturday, we are the same person.
Years later, I have a dream about the women who made me pull this sentiment from fiction characters and apply to a real person with breath. In the dream we are having tea and catching up and talking about what happened that drove us at one another. We never met in real life, but the dream is more real than real. It is relief. We are now a lake. No ripples. A small pond. No Narcissus. No anything. And now dried earth, crumbled back into soft silted soil for replanting.