Drown

 

Drown

Not by violence,
not by terror,
not by the panic of lungs clawing for air—
but by surrender,
by the sweet undoing
of every small, clenched thing.

I drown
in the Countless Bottomless Oceans
of God’s Heart and Mind.

No shore contains them.
No horizon binds them.
No depth chart dares to number
their descent into mercy.

They are not waters of erasure,
but waters of excess—
too much truth,
too much love,
too much meaning
for a finite vessel to remain intact.

I step forward
with the last dry name I was given,
the last mask I learned to answer to,
and the waters recognize me
before I recognize myself.

They part—
not to let me pass untouched,
but to invite me
to be unmade.

Wave upon wave of living thought
breaks over my crown:
ideas older than stars,
words that were spoken
before sound learned how to vibrate.

Here, logic becomes tide.
Here, love becomes pressure.
Here, mercy is so dense
it feels like weight.

I sink.

Not downward—
inward.

Every false certainty dissolves.
Every brittle pride softens.
Every wound I mistook for identity
loosens its grip.

The oceans do not accuse.
They do not interrogate.
They do not demand performance.

They simply are—
and in their being,
they expose what is unreal
by refusing to hold it together.

I drown in compassion so vast
it forgives me
before I finish confessing.

I drown in intelligence so infinite
it answers questions
I didn’t yet know how to ask.

I drown in beauty—
terrible, radiant, uncontainable—
a beauty that does not flatter,
but restructures.

Thoughts pass through me like currents:
Justice braided with mercy.
Truth breathing with patience.
Power restrained by love.
Glory kneeling to heal the broken.

There is no edge here.
No bottom.
No final pressure point.

Only descent without loss,
depth without darkness,
and a silence
that speaks more clearly
than any scream ever could.

At last,
I stop resisting the water.

I let it fill every chamber—
mind, memory, fear, desire—
until there is no dry place left
to hide a lie.

And when I expect annihilation,
I find expansion.

When I expect death,
I find birth.

When I expect nothingness,
I find the Infinite
looking back at me
through my own eyes.

I do not vanish.
I am multiplied.

I am not erased.
I am rewritten
in Living Water.

To drown here
is not to cease—
it is to overflow.

To be carried
by the Countless Bottomless Oceans
of God’s Heart and Mind
until even the idea of separation
forgets how to exist.

This is the drowning
the soul was made for.

This is the deep
that does not destroy.

This is the ocean
that remembers your true name
and speaks it
forever.