I don’t know if I’ll ever see the ocean again, but in my dreams, she’s always there. An endless expanse of water, ready to pull man and ship into the depths of her cold embrace.Â
And if you’re lost to those depths, what then? What else can there be other than oblivion? It would be the loss of all that you were and are and yet could’ve been, and she wouldn’t even notice. She cares nothing for you, though you love her more than life itself. To her, you are nothing. To her, the world of man and machine are but whispers, ready to be swept away and torn asunder.Â
We’re so small, and yet in our folly we name ourselves amongst the mighty. Fragile as we are, we set out in craft of creaking wood and rusting steel, braving storm and salt and freezing rain: a mere speck amongst the vastness. And in our delusion, we call ourselves masters of her waves. But we’re little more than visitors, intruders, creeping about like frightened mice, lest the true master of this world take notice and ensnare us in her net.
There was a time, long ago, when I tread that expanse. I was master of my own ship, and in my blindness I even thought myself master of her as well. But in time, all pride must lead towards a fall.
I cannot say if the storm set upon me was in wroth at my conceit, or if I was simply caught in some design beyond the scope of my mortal comprehension. Who can speak of the workings of her mind? Any who would try are fools or mad or both.
And so my ship was wrecked, my crew all but swallowed up and pulled into the darkness, never to be seen again while this world still turns. Yet somehow, I was spared, but by some stroke of mercy or luck or something else entire, I cannot say.
All I know is that from that day forth I had to flee, inland, away from her, as far as I could manage.
Will I see her cold, uncaring face again? I do not know. Of all things, only one is certain: even now, with many years gone by, she calls to me, endlessly.Â
And in my dreams, she’s always there.
Thank you for your time and attention.
Beautiful.
Loved this one Max. I’ve always had a love of the sea, but an ominous, melancholic sort of affection. You captured it very well here.