PAD 7

Ritual

At eight,
I slipped during my baptism,
as if I fought the symbolic burial
of submersion.
My resurrection came to the sound
of laughter.

It's the nature of those
who fear
the rumbling chaos within
to see each other as unclean.
As beasts
who relish the roll
in the dirt
we know
that it also renews.

Years later,
I immersed myself again,
not relying on another's hands
to prevent a downward drift.
Once, twice, thrice,
into the sea,
pulled by tide,
pushed by wave.
Light beckoned me upwards,
and I emerged,
salt crystallizing on my skin.

My weight fell to
the One
the All,
and together,
we laughed.

Today's prompt in two parts: clean and dirty.
This one is purely autobiographical.