Lost at Sea

Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he !
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

My dear, we swim in an ocean of thought. And thoughts are what those like you and me hold onto-- we study the tidal theories of our minds, feel the crashing waves of emotion, and are subject to constant the ebb and flow of our truths. We are in constant motion. Though we are not always tangible, we are magnificent.

And yet it is in that lack of tangibility that one find's our tragic flaw. To hold onto a body of water is the task of a fool. Yes, we exist in the peaceful waters of the South China Sea of a Bataan summer. We are a beautiful creation of mother nature. But our fluid nature has consequences: the beauty's also a beast. The fairest of summer's is but season away from our volatile reality: tsunamis, tidal waves, monsoon rain and the perfect storm. We are destructive, we cause shipwrecks and can be the worst enemy of many a lost mariner.

He-- on the other hand-- he is of the land, the substantial. He is refuge from the storm. Whilst the currents pass, the land remains. He studies that which is substantial and proven. The changes brought about by the erosion of the sea are merely chip away at a solid mass. He is boulders, rocks and tightly packed earth and he holds dear to principle and practicality. It is land, not thought or liquid dreams, that you can hold on to.

And so if your sea must dry and you must leave the ocean of thought, then realize what is to remain. All that will remain of a body of flowing water is a bed of sand and the remnants of what was. It is then that sea turns to land and you join the world of substantiality. And what is to be of me? Perhaps I'll follow currents along everchanging tides.

Or perhaps I can never really be what I once was, and I too will dry.

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea !
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.