The Beach

The ocean casts a spell on me, an endless blue-green space that floods me with a calming certitude – this place where tensions sink like flotsam into insignificance. The waves don’t care for treasure or my hornets’ nest. They all sink to their graves. Now you there with your laptop - you like your life well planned. You mostly try to do your best to shine your light on land. You think you’ve found an ocean in your gigabype abyss. Look up - our lives does not allow a view as vast as this. I wonder at the beauty of an ordinary heap of tangled seaweed, like discarded rope emerging from the deep. Small creatures you don't want to eat dig tunnels on the shore. I don't know where they go or if they hear the ocean roar. You lie here on the beach and don't see anything amiss. Our normal lives do not allow a view as small as this. You like to swim and jog and build your castles on the land. You do not build them in the air, because they will not stand. I've built them on the beach, but their support is insecure. A dream enacted on firm soil more likely will endure. The ocean quickly greets them and they can't remain in place, dissolving in the swirls of bubbles and amazing grace. I take my journeys here with you; I’m glad that you are here. Your feet are planted on the land; you make my life more clear. Perhaps I can convey to you the wonders I have found - Amazement with all creatures here, perfection without bounds. I do not know the ocean but it disregards the meek. I'll bottle up the blue and use it up throughout the week. Dying waves lap on the shoreline, and they always will. The people leave the beach when darkness falls, and all is still.