Learn your lessons from the waves that pass over you
I spent yesterday in another world. The ocean and its angry waves kept me fighting to keep head above water, but with every sudden crash and mouth full of salt; with every time I felt I wouldn't be brought back up to the surface, I felt more alive.
I hadn't seen the ocean so violent before. It felt good to swim out further than everyone else--keep swimming out until I felt I wouldn't be able to fight the rip tides back in to shore. The feeling of being dragged by my entire being into oblivion was just too breathtakingly gorgeous to pass up.
So I stayed in for something like 6 hours, turning pruny and disgusting, covered in bruises from being thrown against the shallow spots, eyes stinging, sticky, wet, and content.
And when I'd had enough of the sea's angry thrashing, I lied somewhat quietly in the sand, the only sound our giggling and the only thing to think about the loose and yet unformed glass I'd dug my feet in up to the shins.
None of us could keep from smiling, and we all knew that this was a day we'd remember for the rest of our lives. Not because we tripped in the vast expanse that is the ocean. Not because we had a great time swimming. Not even for the conversation and the laughter--It was all these things, but more than that--the simple fact that this was a series of perfect moments never going to be captured again.
No one had to say it. We all knew it would change us. We were changing as we fought against the angry sea and changing even as we dug into the sand and stared off into the beautiful blue distance.
This is dangerous. Happiness is frightening.
I don't fear communing with the Earth. After all, I've always felt I was more strongly tied to nature than most of my peers.
I fear what it means to transform so quickly. (And it has been striking me like so many lightning bolts from a summer storm.)
I'm changing so much. And I don't know if that's ok or not, but I suppose if I keep my head above water and remember to take time out to spend my days with the mother who's always been there for me: Devoting myself to her, worshipping her, loving her, and never taking what I've been given the pleasure to enjoy for granted--I should be good.
No more hustling women. No more believing in people when I know I can't be believed in. Only love for myself and my position, no matter what it might be.
No more fighting. No more letting those who seek to destroy me have power over me. Only I can give and take that kind of power for myself.
No more hating myself.
No more being angry at everyone else.
I am a singular individual and I am here for a distinct purpose, if only as a reward for something I might have done a thousand lives before. If it's more than that, then my time will come. I'll be called to take care of something no one else can. And I'll be ready and willing to give back to my mother and the village that helped raise me. If I'm meant to live a life and die without incident or ceremony, then I'll be just as happy to do that too.
I hadn't seen the ocean so violent before. It felt good to swim out further than everyone else--keep swimming out until I felt I wouldn't be able to fight the rip tides back in to shore. The feeling of being dragged by my entire being into oblivion was just too breathtakingly gorgeous to pass up.
So I stayed in for something like 6 hours, turning pruny and disgusting, covered in bruises from being thrown against the shallow spots, eyes stinging, sticky, wet, and content.
And when I'd had enough of the sea's angry thrashing, I lied somewhat quietly in the sand, the only sound our giggling and the only thing to think about the loose and yet unformed glass I'd dug my feet in up to the shins.
None of us could keep from smiling, and we all knew that this was a day we'd remember for the rest of our lives. Not because we tripped in the vast expanse that is the ocean. Not because we had a great time swimming. Not even for the conversation and the laughter--It was all these things, but more than that--the simple fact that this was a series of perfect moments never going to be captured again.
No one had to say it. We all knew it would change us. We were changing as we fought against the angry sea and changing even as we dug into the sand and stared off into the beautiful blue distance.
This is dangerous. Happiness is frightening.
I don't fear communing with the Earth. After all, I've always felt I was more strongly tied to nature than most of my peers.
I fear what it means to transform so quickly. (And it has been striking me like so many lightning bolts from a summer storm.)
I'm changing so much. And I don't know if that's ok or not, but I suppose if I keep my head above water and remember to take time out to spend my days with the mother who's always been there for me: Devoting myself to her, worshipping her, loving her, and never taking what I've been given the pleasure to enjoy for granted--I should be good.
No more hustling women. No more believing in people when I know I can't be believed in. Only love for myself and my position, no matter what it might be.
No more fighting. No more letting those who seek to destroy me have power over me. Only I can give and take that kind of power for myself.
No more hating myself.
No more being angry at everyone else.
I am a singular individual and I am here for a distinct purpose, if only as a reward for something I might have done a thousand lives before. If it's more than that, then my time will come. I'll be called to take care of something no one else can. And I'll be ready and willing to give back to my mother and the village that helped raise me. If I'm meant to live a life and die without incident or ceremony, then I'll be just as happy to do that too.