January 12, 2010


There is a cliff I sit on as I look into the blue ocean.
I lean into the boulder and watch the ocean go on forever.
The great Pacific always becomes the sky.
I can no longer tell the vastness of the bold and deep ocean from the weightless open sky.

I find strength in the repetition of the waves.
They are timeless; crashing on the same rocks daily, hourly, momentuously.
Only changing with the tide and wind, but returning none the less, tomorrow.

There is no sound that roars in my ears like the furious waves -
beating their brothers
for a chance to reach the shore.
The wind whips the water,
becoming friend or foe of the chaotic torrent.

The salty aroma draws me out.
I close my eyes and become a fisherman lost at sea,
engulfed in my senses...in love with this adventure.

I come to the cliff at night.
When my world has drifted into darkness,
and I cannot see so clearly.
I hear the pounding of the waves
I smell the damp ocean air
I feel the wind whip through my hair;
and sense the effects on the waves below.

But I do not see the deep blue sea.
I can no longer make out the breadth of the majestic ocean in front of me,
I only trust that it is still there.
I have seen it before.
My senses tell me that this time
seeing is not believing.

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