There is something about the Ocean.
For those of you who have lived its Bigness. It breathes full. It contains many landscapes. It births many dreams and consumes many sailors. It is both entity and identity; moving in subtle mists and pounding in terrifying torrents.
We think this thing is “us” … we trust this thing knows us and supports us and favors us. We tiptoe at its shore like skitterish little birds, playing it its arms, knowing that caresses and death are but a thin, red line. Nature is our kitty-cat, but also our cougar, and never at a convenient time.
But, dangers and archetypes aside, the ocean is simply amazing. To be near a body of water where the bigness of the ocean can be appreciated: sniffed in, savored, sipped – like a delightful wine – is indeed a gift.
The elements at play are huge, and remind us of our sweet insignificance. Major elements, in major proportions. The Sky: vast, spacious, open; a blue and pearl dome of cool, infinite and soothing dimensions. The land: shore, sand, rock: sculptures of mortality and magnificence. The immoveable that has been ground to dust. The shifting sand that dances and disappears underfoot. The unyielding high craggy cliffs that groan and crumble every million years with invisible voices to timeless ears.
And the Ocean Itself.
That which is in us, that longs for and craves the solace of the eternal … strives to measure the infinite by the only little rulers we own.
And of these Little Rulers, the Biggest Little Rulers are the perceptions we carry of the Voice of Nature. This Ocean, in its expanse, it’s blue-ness, its unrivaled contrasts of softness and violence, its lullabye sound, its caress on our skin … all this speaks to the deeper longings of us humans. It becomes one of the most powerful facsimiles of the Infinite. It speaks to the Soundless Sound within; the Deepest Depth within, the bravest Sailor in our skin.
We romance that sea, in both our calm and turbulent times.
It is both serpent and sage. The undulating deep and primal power, the soft mirror that shows radiance, compassion, reflection. We, those tiny birds on its shore. We, those delicate Dancers of Dust, on this shifting Stage of Sand. The thing of immediate history, holder of memory, shaper of continents, tosser of tiny boats riding gigantic waves.
And all we can do is look. Breathe. Sigh.
Sit like seagulls on our old logs and wait for our ship to come in.
Bathe in the crashing, the roaring, the cold & foggy mornings, the ancient Egyptian sunsets, the tiny bits of shell and jewels that this monarch spits up on our shoes.
Another day in superb creation.
Another gift that we can open our eyes and see.
I got this great “communications” package a few months back from one of our local magnanimous Communications Giants. Phone, internet and TV all for a ridiculous price. How kind of them.
There’s something about connecting to the Planet we stand on; to the earth that yields our food, to the elements that make up the bread and bones of our physical existence.
Corleone is not city like Palermo — indeed it is a small town. The bus ride took about 1 and 1/4 hours and way route was lined with grapevines and hayfields, beautiful mountains and a picturesque countryside.
Ok, it’s like this: it takes you for a ride. And it can be a very sweet sensation. We humans are such a mix of sensibilities: memory, emotion, intellect, intelligence, intuition, silent knowing, dreaming. And our brains, our whole beings are so amazingly developed to savour sensation, to ‘parse’ the delicate labyrinth of “enjoyment”.
