|Spiny prickly pear cactus, near Bachas Beach, Santa Crus Island, Galápagos Islands 2018.|
In the beginning: salt, indigo and jade, without form.
Beneath that weight, fire and liquid rock prowl and push.
This is how land births itself: eruptions red as first blood.
Spilling like joy, like madness. Creation is a little crazed.
She cools in black ropey coils, ripples and wrinkles, blisters
and breakage. Fury eases into fields of obsidian silence,
the horizon a heart caught in one long beat. Here, God is a seed
sown by chance, mistake, luck. Here, rock becomes womb.
Life finds a cavity, spins fine roots into the dark. Blind,
but not unseeing. Lava accepts that hatchet of joy, seedling—
that release from a sealed tomb, unstoppable mapmaker.
What comes now will grow from the embers of grief.
Our trip to the Galápagos Islands was like being at the beginning of the world; everything is still so close to the moment of Creation. I have a lot more to say about the journey, but for today, this photo and poem will have to suffice. Yes, when I saw this particular cactus pad in the shape of a heart, the song by Santana came thundering through my mind!