Childhood memories weave in and out of our immortal life, rolling like the tide. Always consistent, always on time they beat against our tattered soul. The pungent aroma of low tide assaulting the senses as it recedes from the bay. Fiddler crabs on full alert searching for a dwelling. At this point in time any dwelling will suffice. Black mud dry and lifeless begs for forgiveness. Tiny little doorways to the inner earth expose themselves to predators and nature. The tides slowly and predictably retrace their endless pattern of movement. Fiddlers scramble for safety, not quite ready to sacrifice their soul to the earth god. I see myself through fiddler crab eyes, exposed to the elements and the trappings of illusions. As I search for solace and fortitude the tides of time sweep silently across my domain. The salty smell of fear blends with damp darkness and my life becomes with the tides. I contemplate why silences are so loud.
From nowhere I came, from nowhere I return. From your thoughts I hear, “Oh my, what a depressing introduction.” I say, let loose your soul and taste the salty water of my endless, timeless journey of love, life and survival.