Who really knows, and who can swear,
How creation came, when or where!
Even gods came after creation’s day,
Who really knows, who can truly say
When and how did creation start?
Did He do it? Or did He not?
Only He, up there, knows, maybe;
Or perhaps, not even He.
— Rig Veda 10.129.1-7
The sea was calm, the tide full, the moon laid fair upon the straits, on the coast the light gleams, and is gone, the cliffs stand, glimmering and vast out in the tranquil bay. You don’t need to be the tide to rise and fall, you don’t have to be a wave to touch the shore, just me, the little sand grain and feel them all.
I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to share is the sea, the sea that fascinates me, that holds me and I am bound to. It contains so many colours, silver at dawn green at noon, dark blue in the evening sometimes it almost red. There are times when sea turns the colour of old coins, right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads.
This is my favourite thing, that I have ever seen, well not that I have seen much other than the sea it the dark menacing eruptions the rocks. There is time when I am so lost in commune with the sea that I lose all other commune.
There is a magic about the sea, everything is drawn to it, and everything wants to be love by it, swim in it, play in it, and look at it. it is a living thing that is as unpredictable as a great stage the actor. It could be calm and welcoming; opening its arms to embrace its audience one moment, but then could explode with its stormy tempers. Flinging people around, wanting them out, attacking coast lines, breaking down islands. There is a playful side too, as it enjoys the crowd, tossed the children about, towed boats over, tipped over windsurfers occasionally gave sailors helping hands all done with a chuckle.
The moon makes love to the ocean and in this holy conception it gives to a little tide, said a person on the rocks, the other went along for the other did not know any better.
The Relentless way, washed ashore, the sands along its bank, felt the anguish and hurt that the sea was throwing up.
The crystals from the sea sang the song of an unusual story, a story not of the moon making love to the sea, and from the holy conception the birth of the tide, or a sweeping wave, no sir, this is more heart wrenching.
When the Brahmanda broke releasing with it, infinite energy and particles Prithvi the earth was formed. She is, was and will be the primordial mother. But neither is the story of the eternal maternal love. When all existence was in harmony, there came a moment, of tandem, that disturbed and the ocean was rocked, it was churned till the soul of the sea bed tore.
Today, as the ocean sends up the tides, I feel as if I am witnessing a miracle, as ever so slowly as the wave raises towards the moon, I watch the wave drink in the sight and sensing the flood of memories that is unleashed, I want to let the wave that is roaring in pain that I’m here, but instead I stay where I am and stare up at the moon as well, and for the briefest instant, it almost felt that I was one with the wave, the moment of eternal bonding but it was gone before I could, the pain of the wave carried was far greater than mine,
For when the sea churned, from his entity emerged the crystals, the consciousness of the sea, when they were wrenched the sea foam brought forth the sea horses, but the at the end of it came the most precious of them all, the soul of the sea, that shone with tranquillity, with a power to heal, and soothe, “Chandra” the moon, the sea got just a fraction to experience the joy, when the moon was thrown up to the sky the powers that churned the ocean.
The sea fought the wind, the sea fought the mountains, you hear it as the call of the mountain or the roar from the wave, you can feel in the fury that the wave whips- the rock bed, yet there is nothing that the sea can, do except raise the tide and try to reach out to the love of his life, the soul of his being, out in the vastness of the space, when tired and unable to reach the moon, it’s the anguish you hear for what’s worse than knowing that the fragment of you is out there and it you can never have it?
As for the moon it does not fight, it attacks no one, it does worry, nor does it try to crush others, it just keeps to its course, but by its very nature it gently influences. What other body could pull an entire ocean from shore to shore… the moon is faithful to its nature and its power is never diminished.
Are you still looking for the love story… don’t feel the sea’s love for the moon, or my love for the sea? We are the two ways that love manifests, reaching out or surrendering..
written for Indispire June 4th 2016 challenge a love story without humans, animals or any living creatures. by Prakash.B.Hegade https://itsphblog.wordpress.com/