The Sea was calling the mighty One, the wise elephant God under the Sun.
Sitting still at the temple door —
"Come, learn another kind of stillness, and know more."
For there is a stillness that sits, and a stillness that moves and fits.
Ganesha spoke, "Teach me," to the divided, pliable Sea.
The Sea, being the first-born lover, did not answer as a fixed cover,
but placed him on a board where the wave bows, where balance is love in breaking rows.
This is how love teaches —
not by stilling the waves, but by riding them, making you worthy of its rising.
Be still, little self, and be in touch. You were never meant to own as such.
You were meant to be carried, in all waters of life not shy, where trust is the metaphor we live by.
Ganesha saw then, enlightenment is not a mountain to conquer.
It is a wave that comes, takes you, and throws one back on the sand to ponder.
And then, if you are blessed, it comes again, when courage asks for the same.
Keep the mind soft enough to float, heavy enough to stay on board,
humble enough to know —you are not the rider, you are the riding itself, in a bow.
The board, the body, the breath, all one brief flow between elements, not to test, but to trust.
Another piece of freedom to liberate, when the tide is high, to go again.
And now when he is not sitting still, at the temple, you can see him, in heavy grace, riding the coaster, to get his fill.






















