In through the Wild

Right when the waves come, something goes; either the now-shattered waves which had come a while ago or a man. One goes. One has to go. Always

The waves always know that they don’t exist; they know that they are not but the sea.

When far from the shore they begin to be shaped into existence with the help of the wind, they are more themselves; for they don’t possess the hallucination that they will BE a wave for long. Once they actually reach the coast and fade in the sand, they can see it more that they are NOT but the sea.

Once and for all they become selfless and a mark in the sand is the only thing that’s left of them, which eventually is vanished by the waves to come.

They are the sea then, the waves. They have no time to be BUT that.

The man had decided to do the inconceivable; the divine as he would put it. He had been under the influence of something intense, something so powerful.

He came to see the sea at that early time of the day when the morning breath is so zesty and new; when the air is so neat; the sea and the sky are one; when the horizon doesn’t care to be around and simply lets the air and the water play and mingle.

The velvety clouds dotted here and there are almost felt against your skin. The vastness of the landscape enters your soul and only your eyes are left as the single part of you that lingers.

The breeze so magical drowns you deep into the sky among the clouds while you float in the sea, in the wild and crazy water you float.

The man, now overwhelmed by the magnitude and pure beauty of all this, goes in the sea. He lets the water touch wherever it feels like, he lets the water do the unthinkable.

The man, burning with love, lets the lover end the existence of the beloved. He goes with the waves, the sea. Fear never even existed, EVER!

This love has been the only inhabitant of the universe since the dawn of time.

Imagine flying through the sea, being as spread out as air itself. How light.

Now the man could only see light, hope and love; could only BE. The next second he no longer WAS.

I, the little boy, seeing all this, feared the non-existence that had occurred. I, the little boy, was partly an observer, partly just a little boy. Here to play. I, the little boy, feared the sea and blamed the waves once more. I, the little boy, was repelled by the waves; I feared their existence. I thought they never were; but they were. For me they existed and they were rather cruel, the waves.

The purity and beauty of the day still remained.

When the man was gone or started to be, a seagull flew off and I knew who he was. I decided to call the seagull Jonathan the seaman.

Ever since the sweet tragedy, I couldn’t see; knowing that trying in this lost cause would be in vain, I decided to listen from then on, to hear in fact.

So the visions were replaced by sounds, by tunes and echoes resonating and resounding all around and I just listened. So still, I just listened.

The silence filled my ears, filled me up. To hear nothing but the flow is so pure, innate, so secluded and sacred. In this silence I heard a lot; many stories and tales of man and his journeys through the path of nature. I heard of love and beauty and adventure and the wild; definitely of the wild; I vividly remember the existence of the wild, always there; at its wildest indeed.

And just to have shown me how good it could actually get, the wild shook the earth; an earthquake as man likes to call it. I laughed and just had fun with it; with a pinch of panic of course.

In the end, the rain told me not to worry, for god was watching over. I hesitated for a second, but smiled.

The trees so green beamed and the morning once more emerged. I embraced the sea once more and the sea bid farewell to me with the rain. I said goodbye while the sea said:

“You’ll be here. You’ll come back; one day, you will.”

The calm breeze kissed me goodbye and set me on my way.

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