When There's A Will, There's A Wave in The eye of every storm

So.

Night has fallen, the ocean’s black like ink rises and falls, a faint heartbeat of the dying planet, a pulse without life, devoid of light. There’s noises, a mysterious splash over there, preceded only by a curious noise directly behind you.

Sometimes there’s a moon. Tonight it is in full New phase.

Occasionally, some miles to the east, lightning purples the sky in dazzling moments of clarity, yet confusion sweeps in immediately afterwards. This is what Pharaoh probably felt like, if that’s a real thing, before the sea crashed down from both sides on he and his armies.

Oh. That noise again. It could be a friendly sea turtle. It could be a 16 foot Great White. It could be nothing but the ebb and flow of a tiny crest. Whatever it is, it knows what it is, and you know nothing about it, but it’s there with you.

That lightning again. Never in time to see the origin of the noise, but the storm is either coming closer to you or you are moving closer to it. The ocean, it pulls, but then again, storms travel. Who knows.

Thousands of miles from land, floating on your back, you can’t see anything but the galaxy. Majestic columns of matter, purples and blues, sweeping across the night sky in every direction, and you, in this water, so small staring at the past and the future simultaneously, hear that fucking noise again, growing closer and closer.

While you’re wondering about God, something brushes against your leg and pulls you back down from the heavens. That’s how it always is, how it was written, so let it be done. It could’ve been a dolphin, a whale, a kraken, a cthulu. The sad thing is it doesn’t matter.

Eventually, the water starts pulling. It’s slow at first, a gradual tug and then a slight give. It grows steadily, your shirt tightening around your neck as you start to move backwards. On your back, floating, staring at the stars, it occurs to you how fast you’re going. The stars aren’t streaking by any means, but as a guide point, there is some velocity in what’s behind you.

The next time the lightening crashes, it’s miles and miles away, a distant memory from how good you had it in the depths of darkness. It’s also below you, and you continuously rise towards the heavens, closer than ever to God, carried by the wave that will soon plummet you to the abyss.

So.

I have these panic attacks. And it feels like this is my nightmare, this is my nightmare.

Last updated August 16, 2015