A View From The Shore

A VIEW FROM THE SHORE

The waves crawl up the sandy ground and then recede back into the ocean. Each wave glimpses something concrete, something actual, for only a moment, and then proceeds to return to the infinite space from which it emerged. It’s as if they are emulating my existence. I can only glimpse the actuality of another human for a brief moment, but can never seem to reach it. I am driven forward by some unseen force towards the other, and as quickly as I moved towards him, I am pulled away back into some unfathomably deep space. It is gloomy out and the sky is grey. The atmosphere is apt given my thoughts at this moment. I watch some children play on the beach. Their movement traces out some random pattern against a background with no point of reference. I pretend to feel happy about what I am seeing, but I immediately see through this veil of superficiality. The lack of reason, and presence of chaos, upon which the scene before me finds its foundation is overwhelming. I feel nauseous and anxious as these thoughts enter my mind and refuse to leave me alone. The isolation is overbearing and weighs me down. My thoughts move so slowly that I am not sure I am really thinking anything at all at any given moment. A boat is navigating the waters in the distance. I can hardly make it out against the back drop of fog and the greyness of the sky. The whole scene before me is like a mirror. The shadow of a boat floats on a sea of doubt. Analogously, the shadow that I have become drifts through the world hardly noticeable at all. I briefly wonder to myself if I am dreaming or awake, but am quick to reassure myself of my wakeful state, though it often feels as though I am trapped in some sort of dream. I see dark clouds and rain in the distance suggesting that something ominous lies on the horizon of my existence. There is a black, dead tree uprooted off to the side of the beach. It lies on its side with its roots pointing out into the air around it. I trace the intricate patterns with my eyes off into space until they converge into an inextricable cloud of lines. I think to myself how our lives are just like this projection I have created from the uprooted tree. We are all moving about without ultimately knowing where we will end up. We think that we know towards what we are moving. Despite this, we almost never end up there. Even when we do, it is so often by moving along a path we could have never imagined. Am I the exception to this generalization? I suppose not. Though I don’t know where I am heading, or how I will get there, nevertheless, it is this very lack of imagination that condemns me to the same fate as everyone else. I take a drag off of my cigarette and exhale, watching the smoke wind about and then disappear in the cold air around me. I close my eyes and watch as the thoughts empty my head and I’m left with nothing but a vacuum of uncertainty. I feel that I am far from home in this state of existence, and then wonder how it was that I ever felt “at home” in the past. I open my eyes and stare off into the distance. I am looking at nothing in particular, but can see everything comprising my field of vision. As I stare at nothing I feel myself approaching some sort of primordial state of existence. I continue to chase my thoughts as they intertwine with the scene before me, moving no where in particular.