- I can't help but be fascinated by the endless routine of the setting sun and the inevitable demise of each wave crashing with kamikaze's abandon onto the remains of mountains. This is the place I seek. The space in which I choose to exist. A place of great importance and permanance. Surer then and ground, the tides and sea have always been the source, the place to go back to.
Stripped bare of pretense and ego, flung shivering into the stormy ocean I grow stronger with every paddle. Each rotation a bit looser in each shoulder and stronger through each arm. That one vertebrae pops and I feel each breath growing deeper. The rhythm of each wave crossed by wind chop is tricky, but soon it is my heartbeat and I can see the channel in front of me, a tangible escape from the exhaustion of being caught inside.
Through some miracle of Poseidon I escape the inner sandbar's board-snapping clutches unscathed. Nary a head dip be had I was almost there. Big rolling peaks tumbled their way in over the third sandbar warping the horizon and giving signal of sets to come. I was where I needed to be.
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