Ocean of Night :: Dark

Photo Credit: Mister Tim [Tim Johnson] on Flickr

(A recent trip to the lake has me thinking of lakes, and then water, and then oceans. Ladies and gentlemen I present: my creative process at work.)

Dark, dark, dark. To swim in the ocean in South Carolina at night, feel the waves pulling at one’s feet and legs to come and roll on the churning sea of black; to look into the maw of the endless, empty Atlantic with eyes that are units of a body not even as big as a single, unseen wave- One begins to grasp how truly small we are.

The light of the stars above is swallowed by the hollow Thing below – no brilliant reflection can grace its creased surface. The sand at my feet gives way, like the starlight, when faced by the manifest blindness of the water that bites it, soothes it, and caresses it day and night. The simple, defiant act of standing still in the wake of this Terror makes my breathing quicken. I think briefly to close my eyes, but forget the notion immediately – to choose blindness would be worse than to have it forced upon me.

Daring to swim in Its waters leaves me gasping as watery hands push me away, and pull me out towards the sea. I cling to the shore with weary hand and foot, feeling Its terror as my own in the thought of losing sight of the lighted shoreline. Imagined bumps in the shallows set my mind to work creating and recreating the monsters that I know share these waters. Shark, squid, tooth, or tentacle will certainly be my demise.

As I flee from It, I muse for a moment: As the Ocean is alive, what does it think of? Gull, or storm, or mainland? Or does it think of me? No – if it does, it will only mistake me for one more grain of sand on its shores.

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