Beach Nights

Beach Nights

Midnight swim, three a.m., clear stars and the tide rolls in bringing a cloud of stringy seaweed. Wading in the water, dark as the bluish black-eye of night, we float with the slow breath of each rolling wave, low in the calm of pre-dawn, in the mouth of the world; the ocean of antiquity, that never ceases, will never cease breathing. We, needles in the pin-cushion sea, reflections of constellations, every bit as stationary; every bit infinite, stitching the seam between breath and eternity. The breadth of reality extends beyond imagination, and we are fantasy. Serenity such as this exists only in ourselves, buoyant and unattached; bound by air and water to the terrestrial water scape that lays below our dangling toes; eyes upturned to heaven, looking through paradise to paradise; perfection exists in experience. No need to sulk and every reason to open our eyes to the salty serenity of living. This is easier in the cold water and chilled breeze of seashore serenades whispered by the lips of the Atlantic, shone by the pierced ears of midnight blue skies. Life reminds us, on occasions such as this, that to float is to celebrate the tide.