Day after day, it felt as if I was treading in an endless ocean -- my legs bobbing back and forth with no bottom in sight. Distant. Cold. Hopeless. Suffocating. Indifferent. Insurmountable. Relentless. The ocean knows no bounds; no sacred places; no restraint. It washes over me like it washes over everyone else. Pressed deep into the sand clinging all over my body, the ocean starts at my toes and creeps its way up. It presses down firmly on my chest; I feel as if my heart will explode from all the intangible force. Infectiously it spreads up to my face, into my mouth and seemingly washes over my brain as if taking full control of who I am...of me. Curled and distorting, my body yearns for a grasp of normality as it gasps for air -- breath after breath it contorts every which way hoping to surface for even a brief moment to catch its breath. And then, as naturally and shockingly it came, the ocean recedes away from me back into the abyss whose depth and darkness are impenetrable even by the strongest lights. And I continue to lay there. I lay and I lay and I lay. My eyes open. My chest is still a bit sore. I can breathe -- but in short haphazard bursts. I force myself up -- my weight sinks in to the still soaked sand. And yet as I look around I don't recognize the scenery before me. The ocean had etched a new landscape into my eyes. It's dark and cloudy, but at the same time new and bright. My eyes hurt a pain that stretches all the way to the back of my head. I move forward.
I was thrust deep into the ocean. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. I couldn't smell. I couldn't feel. I could hear. I could hear the delicate pounding of the water against my ear drums. The slow buildup of pressure, the intense grading against the sides of my head which I was certain would cause my body to cave in on itself -- consuming my entire being. I sank and sank and sank. All I could do was cling onto the scraps that rushed my way. I desperately grasped at what looked like little threads in the vast darkness. I thrashed and thrashed, disturbing my tranquil suffocation. Now turbulent, the ocean tossed me back and forth, over and under, side to side. I pushed and pulled and wrenched and heaved and treaded and sunk. Every action I took I could feel my body twisting underneath the fury of the ocean. Every action I took I could feel my legs extending for but a piece of solid ground to take footing on. Every action I took, I could feel myself being forced back under. Every action I took, I could feel myself try to give up.
Up. Down. Left. Right. The ocean has no orientation. Everything is the same, and yet everything is nothing. The ocean is darkness and cold, but at the same time it is the lack of light and heat. Everything I knew about the ocean, was just an abstraction of everything I didn't know. Violent, and disturbed, the ocean knows nothing about trying or giving up. The ocean just "does" and continues to "do". Regardless, I twist and turn and I move my body through space. I see and I hear and I taste and I sense and I feel. My body aches, my brain is exhausted, and my heart feels like it was crushed. But I stand atop the ocean, peering down. And I think.
"The ocean is beautiful."
