If you don’t know about it, you can’t worry about it. If you don’t see it, it doesn’t exist.
We humans live mainly on land. The Ocean is there, she gives us the water we need to live, as well as life and plenty of myths. We eat fish at a beach-side terrace. We stare at the waves as melancholy rages within us, even if the emptiness of the horizon remains a fairly abstract concept. Some of us swim, fish, sail, or try to stand up straight on a piece of wood in seemingly gentle waves.
The Ocean is. A hidden world, invisible to us, simple mortals. The Sea giveth and the Sea taketh away. She doesn’t think. She is. There’s no wave that complains about another wave or a lack of space or too much noise. She is patient and merciless and always surprised that we still don’t realise how brilliant and amazing the water cycle actually is and how she can serve humanity as a metaphor for harmonious, obvious universal unity.
Random, different undefinable molecules have apparently created the phenomenon we call water. A weird, liquid, wet, permanently travelling form of energy. What is this weird stuff, really? Water! Only God knows, since there are millions of souls who cling tightly to the idea of a creator. The Ocean hides a deep truth. Every raindrop, hailstone, snowflake rises up to great heights without anyone asking and gives the land what it needs. Such discipline, such finesse and perfection, that every drop that falls in a forest, on a mountainside or on a stretch of farmland eventually flows back to where it came from, easily and unobstructed as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. A unity that manifests itself continuously in endless variations. The mystery of what happens below the sea remains hidden, for now. Maybe that’s not surprising, considering the destructive period we, humanity, are in right now.
But we, humanity, are also the Ocean. That’s a realisation that’s hard to find. We don’t see it. Drops don’t have names, hidden agendas, or bad tempers, and the hailstones that bear the names Jean Pierre and Rodriques don’t fight about the fact that the hailstone named Elisabeth hit a car in Amsterdam and they didn’t even though they wanted to.
We are the Ocean, and the Ocean is us. Dear God! Wake us up and let us learn from the waves that kiss our beaches. It’s so simple. And it is practically impossible to capture her in words, music or paintings. Sea, take me with you and teach me the secrets of your unconditional love in a heavy downpour above the gardens of the Louvre. Maybe the smile of Mona Lisa is an expression of compassion for our collective inability to embrace the rain and thank her for her unending patience with us. We, sleeping humanity.