Ocean

I love the ocean.

It is frightening.

I love the indifference of the ocean, how my individual existence does not matter at all to it. The ocean has no expectations of me, but the ocean accepts me all the same, with my slow feet carrying a body both excited and uncertain into the waves to be buffeted and tossed and encompassed and supported. I love jumping the waves on the shoreline, splashing in the thin coating of salt water on the sand, and I love springing up to ride the waves farther out from the beach chairs and tent, the ones whose gentle height catch me and hold me weightless for a split second. I even love falling from those, arms outstretched and toes searching for a floor they may not find.

We have an agreement, the ocean and I. I get to stare at it, mesmerized by the never-ending waves, new and old at the same time, and it continues its existence, same as it ever was. It is easy to think that I could disappear in the ocean, in its vastness, and it would carry me and hold me, like a tiny ship transported by the waves, guided by the currents. Because what can I do to the ocean? How can I, whose eyesight is exhausted upon a millionth of its expanse, have any impact at all on this great thing?

Of course, we are this great thing as well, this enormous careless biological mess, and we have underestimated our power for harm because we have overestimated the durability of nature. It is an understandable mistake to make, in the face of such an awesome thing, that it would endure while we pass on in our limited days. And maybe we can’t destroy the ocean, can’t remove its waters from the face of the earth. We certainly cannot remove its being. But we forget that we are not the only life that the ocean carries and shelters. The creatures that teem in the seas, those we have the horrifying ability to destroy.

The ocean owes me nothing. The ocean owes us nothing. The ocean rises up when the storms come and the earth quakes and the ocean devastates us. There is a fallen cruelty in our tragedies, a deep pain that demands to be felt. The same water that brings serenity when it minds its bounds brings chaos when it oversteps them. The ocean overwhelms us. Even with all our knowledge, the ocean contains depths that we have not explored. Even with all our power, we have yet to change the tides. It’s funny. When faced with greatness, I talk about our limitations in terms of science and technology, as if they alone held the heights for which we reach.

I love the ocean. I love the happenstance of beauty woven into every crest and trough. I love being reminded of my fragility, of my dependency. When I am too important, when the weight of carrying me is more than I want to bear, the ocean reminds me of what is true. I can leave my running thoughts to hum to themselves on the beach while I count the waves. I cannot control the ocean. The ocean is frightening. And I love it.