Sometimes I forget why I live where I do.
A while ago, I rode my bike down to the ocean.
It was at the peak of a bridge, spanning a vein of a highway, at about 12:45, that the deep blue suddenly, comprehensively enveloped my vision.
I’ve looked across the water toward the horizon line countless times. This time, for the first, an island off our coast made itself clearly visible to me. I am not sure how it usually camouflages itself. Perhaps the crispness of the January air brings it into focus, after the rains wash away its disguise.
Dotted along the reefs are various white specs: some boats, others surfers. Besides them, all I see is primordially rippling water. There is an unshakably mystic permanence to this place, which draws us.
Recently, I returned to the same place, and was stunned again.
This land is a treasure, because it approaches the majesty of eternity.
The coastline and the space between Adam and God are equal representations of the same concept.
I stand face-to-face with God’s creations. They must have existed here for longer than we can imagine.
Men have fought and died for the privilege to stand where I did that day. I would say, “their sacrifices will not be forgotten,” to pay due respect to them. However, I have the feeling that generations of struggle prior to the recent ones have already been erased from the long-term conciousness. I couldn’t keep such a promise.
This world seems to be a paradoxical mix of beautiful infinities and fleeting glimpses thereof.