jgr01

I have always loved the ocean, even when I couldn’t swim.
A cliff or beach as your vantage point, you just know there is somewhere over there, over the horizon. That’s a certainty, a fact, in a world when sometimes the facts you need are not to be found, or proven false. It is true whatever lies on that horizon is out of reach without the means to traverse the blue or sometimes just limited by your own imagination. But it is there.

I can sit for hours on a clear, calm day watching the sea lap; rhythmic, staring at that horizon. What is out there (France usually) what could my life be? Mind not cluttered and rushed with ambitions, unfinished sentences, ideas and flights of fancy beyond my control in the maelstrom of mania. But the sea also takes that electric charge and diffuses it, exhilarates and exhausts it.

It comforts me it pulls the emotion, brings the tears when my mind has all but left me. A confused, despairing mind raging with anguish and pain at the futility of it all during the long dark depressions.
That is the gift of the ocean.

Living with this is like an ocean with no waves, no beach, and no pebbles no sand. No definite fact that there is something on the other side.
Life and all it’s intricacy’s we know, our stability is built on facts, just like the ocean. Love, marriage, our daily endeavours at work, relationships with friends and families are built on the pebbles we believe to be true, the facts. The pebbles, sand, waves are the facts in the mind of the oceans.

So, perhaps my long affinity with the sea is not simply the magnificence and beauty of it. The danger of it, but the very fact it is there, it is dangerous, calm, raging, deep there is nothing more factual on this earth than the sea – how ironic. Haha.
Living a life when you’re not sure of the facts.

Juliet