My house-mates and I, in a need to venture from our city surroundings, headed to the beach earlier today. I haven’t been to the beach in a long time, and I was never to fussed by sand or paddling; passed the age of about 8 I’d had my fill of ocean swimming. However, I enjoyed our short time away from the centre, becoming closer to nature for a little while and indulging in the clean, salty air. While the others paddled, I sat on a high rock, beneath which tide pools had gather, and I thought about the waves as I watched them.
Waves don’t worry about being waves; they don’t ponder they’re link to the ocean as they arise from it; they are formed by the pull of gravity, but do not fight against them; waves die as swiftly as they are born and relinquish their lives back to the water. Waves batter cliffs and coastlines, shaping them with sheer persistence, one after the other, until the land has no choice but to surrender. They impact our world by the simple act of being, and yet that has no baring on their sense of meaning. A wave is just water, acted upon by conditions it cannot control. A wave just is.
Ever wish you were like a wave?