The lost data of a forgotten drive

12th October 2012

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The Ocean of Consciousness

I wanted you to call me. I walked down to the docks but the suns haze kept me from seeing your signal in the trees. The boathouse stood lonely and unused, ready to be used and loved as the years passed from generations of children learning to sail. The feet worn docks needed sanding and rebuilding, and the boats needed to be re-varnished and caulked. And I sat there on the docks as the wind whipped through the dune grass waiting for a sign. I was sorry for the waves as they pounded the beach, slowly eroding the one thing that had always been there. As the currents lapped at the pillars the fish swam and the gulls sang. I wanted you to be here. there was no might nor matter nor hope for the mind the hopeless man lost in the dreams of the sea. He sat his head down and sang at his feet and hoped to dream a new scene. there was no hope for this man and he knew it was so for the time had come to lay down at the bed, the eternal slumber and sweet caress that only the indigo depths provide. When the turquoise light filters down to the scene it will be met with only a body. The corporeal form of a god become human, his hair lifted by the sweet lady sea. Don’t worry said the fingers of water as they touched his hand and he held them. The screams are silenced but the oxygen bubbles up, running for where it belongs. it bursts to the surface and I saw the bubbles, the release into home for the air. My dock shook as the wind moved the timbers and they groaned with the telling of age. As I remembered my folly, my hopes and my dreams I remembered those of others more important than me. I plunged in then, after taking off my shirt, the scratch of the fabric pulling at my scars. The sun hit me then as I stood at the dock, an unprohibited view of the sea before me. The lonely scene of a tired wanderer, happier alone yet sad for the people he had hurt by his ways, mysterious to man and himself. All his days sat before him, his years months and minutes, lined up there in his eyes. And the wind swept behind him to view the scene, the back of the island man. The drifter would be sucked into the riptide, its careful hold is not to harm but to take those it loves to where they belong; to the sea where they rest in the bed of untold scenes. The undertow works with its partner the rip and it pulls them down through the deep. The traveler stood alone at the end, and from the boathouse a lone gull stood with a lonely scene, the dock stretched out before him as the beach wove through, the coast loyally follows lands changing mind, both bluffs to the sides of the Dreamer as he stood, gazing to the heavens in his worn down boardshorts, the sea comes to meet him and the wind falls still save for a breeze that comes to caress his face. The sun made him a shadow in the eyes of the gull, a black spot with arms dangling down like seaweed, the hair stringy and sun kissed with sand strewn throughout, his legs standing tall on the tired old planks. A shadow standing before the gull, as the bird watched and waited. The wanderer finally turned his head, and I looked down at the sea. I closed my eyes and thought of the cliffs, the place so far down the coast. I remembered my childhood only a few beaches away, and I remembered my beach. I opened my eyes to the same familiar view, and I jumped into a slow, laboring dive. My arms drew up as a natural response, coded in from years of swimming. I heard my coach yell arms at my ears and I remembered the time spent with friends. The wanderer dived off from the dock, his body drew up in an angle. The gull watch the shadow slowly move from his spot, each motion as deliberate as his gaze. The body was thrown from the dock on a pair of straight held legs. The arms drew up to form an arrow, his hands poised to cut through the brine. As he fell from the sky he gazed down at the fish, so quizzically peering back. And he plunged down into the salty drink, his eyes felt the familiar salt sting. He was used to it now and he felt the familiar old dance of the tow and the rip, intertwined in a passionate kiss that sucked its lovers into bed. He let it carry him into the arms of his waiting companions embrace. For the sea was with him wherever he would go, an old friend that could never leave. As the drifter was pulled into the dark kiss of the dancers, he saw the scene in indigo. the god looked up, and saw the reflection of a lost boy, never found, and never remembered. the boy looked back, unsurprised and unimpressed as he stood in the beams of turquoise light. The god lifted a hand for he saw the love in the lost ones heart, and he pointed up as his lips parted. The boy understood and the yet the tow did not soften, oblivious to the love of the boy. He swam hard and he fought for his love, until he found the mouth of air.The riptide was solid in its embrace and the boy was out at sea. He said goodbye to his longtime friends and he prepared for a long hard ride. He gently removed himself from the grasp of the prying lovers dance. The surf carried him, exhausted and sad, and lifted him into the sand. And he sat there as the waves kissed his feet goodbye, receding back with the tide. I sat there for a while as I realized that the waves would leave its beach to be. But the lonely beach so water-worn and lonely would need its lovers embrace. For the sea is not always angry, its rage is not permanent, and its love is just as strong. So when it returned to the ravaged beach, it wrapped around it and begged for forgiveness, bringing shells and flotsam and small treasures to shore. And the beach once hurt, felt love once more, and the cycle would still continue. I wanted you to call me.I looked up to see the one boat left in the shack, still shining and gleaming through many years of use. In perfect condition as I lied exhausted on the golden throne, I saw a small seafaring boat 420 

Tagged: short storysailingmissing storiesits really bad i knownot edited at allbeachsandoceanseagulls are awesome

  1. neural-entropy posted this