I am sitting here now watching the waves come crashing in against the rock wall in front of our hotel. I love watching them sweep in, burst in foam against the rock, then swing back out, and back and forth into a thousand rough little waves that dissipate until another comes in to send them through another round of undulations. The shore is the most interesting and dynamic place to watch waves. Out in the ocean they only have the water to pull themselves up on, but here their shapes and sizes are exponentially increased with the introduction of solid rock. It is the release of an oceanic tension, but also the birth of a tension between land and sea.
There is so much to be seen in all this fluctuation. In any given second there are more waves just in my field of view than you could count in a day. Not that I would want to count the waves, and any way you couldn’t, because waves are constantly changing. The beauty in their height is only revealed through the beauty in their diminishing. And in that sense you really can’t even find a wave any more, you can just and look and see – movement, flux.
And then when the waves disappear into a field of movement and flux you disappear into it too, if you can lie down and let yourself be washed out to sea. But you don’t even need the ocean. You can slide into the molasses thick crawl of a song, or the gradated horizontal rainbow of a sunset. And then what was your wave is now a wave of sound, now of sight, and now they all crash together, reform, and on on on… and on… on… on on on… and…