What can I say about the sea that hasn’t been said before? Countless people have been humbled by the flowing tides and the crashing waves and the uncertainty of the swell. Lost souls and troubled minds have sought out the sea for perspective; for confirmation that their existence, however hung up on it they may be, is actually irrelevant.
That’s why I’m here, listening to the waves as I fall asleep. That’s why I walk to the beach in the dark and stare at the vast dome of sparkly black above me, wondering if someone else, somewhere else is staring back and watching the universe evolve. It’s because it never stands still that I can.
But as I wait at the water’s edge and watch the waves ebb closer, I wonder why I don’t feel calm. Why the force of nature isn’t enough to make sense of things. I stand beneath meteoroids and meteorites and watch satellites circling and I feel small for a second, a minute maybe. But then I want to break free. I want stimulation from city lights and cultural quarters and poetry and songs and words and paintings. I want to know your interpretation of the scene. I want to know how it makes a man from New York dance. I want to hear how you’d capture this second in a song. It’s not enough just to be here. But tomorrow it might be.