There is something that draws me to the ocean, beyond aesthetics or culture. It's not the beautiful bodies, though they are nice, nor the white sand, though that is nice too, but something deeper and baser. In the way the horizon flattens into deep blue, I feel like there is a future. There is a sense of moreness and floorlessness, of vastness and everlastness, of a life without wheels and currency and gravity. The roll of the tide, the pulling and pushing of the arms of the sea gives me a freedom down to my core. It's the saltiness, the abrasion and healing. It's the beneath, the through and the all-encompassing. I am lost in the here-and-now. I watch fish watch me and there is an exchange of what-ifs, of how-ares, of mutual fascination and mutual disunderstanding. I am not here nor there, but everywhere and everyhow, everywhen and everynow. The coral so bright, the urchins and stars, the sharks, somewhere, but not too close. There is impending doom, yet a chance at salvation. In the water, we are equally heavy and equally as stupid. We breath sporadically and with difficulty, always resurfacing, birthed into light and solidity.
As I heave away from the ocean, stumbling mortal again, cutting feet on rocks and spluttering, I turn back toward the horizon and gasp. I see, I see!
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