The spirit kisses the mutable sand,
Chisels the weathered limestone rocks on every coastline.
It sweeps across the Ryukyu Islands,
Searching for a match with a soon-to-be Yuta.
Not by blood or by will or whim,
The spirit chooses her; she lets it in.
A union, a psychic awakening of she who then shells herself,
Like a hermit crab that is amongst others but truly alone.
A Yuta speaks to all who seek the echoes from the ocean.
No, she cannot be self-serving.
But she too can be lost in the eye of a hurricane.
After all, she is not a god.
One day, just like how all rivers run back to the ocean,
The spirit will retreat.
She knows, but she can only see it go to the horizon,
Leaving her, the hermit, only with her torn, weathered shell.
*For more information on the Yuta, visit: The Yuta, The Noro, And The “Okinawan Witch Trials” by Tofugu