Meaningful

Perhaps, the ocean's more for those of us who can't swim. At least, I choose to believe that. I like to sit on the shore, close enough for the waves to wash over me up just above my hips. There is a heaviness on my heart as I watch them tussle amongst themselves --- rising, and then falling flat, much like exhausted lovers, gasping for air. There is Grace beneath their battle; each one knowing no matter which of them reaches the shore first, they will all be victorious. And, as ferocious the competition, there is a mutual respect for the tenacity of the other... the ability of each to be overcome by the greater, yet, somehow, suck up enough oxygen to sustain them. Emerging defiant, determined, destined. They violently reach the shore and then disperse; spilling themselves over me and all of the other beach gods who either can not, or will not violate their sanctuary. Then, after examining us thoroughly, determining us neither friend nor foe, they quietly retract... retreating back into their domain, leaving us weak, wet and wondering what all of the fussing was really about to begin with.