The waves come, breakers, tidal, to wash over me, cleanse me, take me out to sea, lifting me in the brine.
I used to fight everything: the world, people I loved, nature, my own incompetence. Anger sparked by failure burned in my heart, consuming only me. But gravity and physics laughed at my pitiful efforts. You can’t cheat the truth, only ignore it, run from it, for a while. Eventually it catches up, slices my tendons, knocks me down, crushes me beneath the avalanche of my actions. Now when the waves come, I embrace them, accept them, and I am lifted.
I wish to promise you something. It could be a note, a poem or verse. It could be a gift, an unassuming box wrapped with a bow. It could be the soft touch of our hands, fingers entwined and strong. It could be my voice, a whisper or a song, but filled to the brim with joy and elation knowing that all of them, my promises, belonged to you.
When you eat a dream, a river opens. When you sleep in the river, the current runs deep. Sleep then, in the river, and eat your fill. Take the warmth and color, the remembrance of times to come, the twist of lies and truth. Rise then, in the light you make. Make of it what you will.
As the people gathered, thousands of them, the boatman slowed his small raft before reaching the shore.
“I can not take you all across the river,” said the black-cowled boatman. He held up his dark crooked stick used for poking his way across. “You would swamp my boat and no one would ever be able to cross over from the land of the quick.”
The people began to cry out for help, to thrash the water and slap at it from torn remnants of clothing.
“Why are there so many of you?” asked the boatman. But the people did not answer except to cry out all the louder. “Has it begun then? The end? Will I find my own rest soon once I’ve ferried you all across, or do you come in numbers too high to count that I may end up here for a thousand years?
He considered himself a rational and well reasoned man in part because of his ability to round fractional numbers both up and down based on mathematics and not on which might benefit himself. If the number should be rounded up or down was a matter of science, not advantage and disadvantage. An ordered mind did not fret over outcomes as much as it settled on the appropriate and most precise course of action and lived accordingly. Yet he still remembered his second grade teacher and the disconcerting infatuation he held for her.