The Salt in the Ocean

The blue of the Indian Ocean is a gentle blue.  Not that fierce, cold blue of the the Atlantic, but rather the warm colors we see in friendly eyes.  Those waters can change from the gentle caressing of the sands to waves that slap the shores and can be heard like rolling tympani.  In 2004, the waters became angry and slipped onto the land in the tsunami.  The ocean has a way of reminding us of our hubris.

It is warm, this ocean.  It licks our legs like an innocent puppy's soft tongue.  The small crabs in the sand scuttle back and forth, avoiding the waves in what appears to be a game of tag.  Small fish jump as they try to escape the unseen predators below.  It is a living thing, beating like a heart, pulsing through arteries that are made up of currents and tides, ebbs and flows.  It is where life began.

There is something almost primal about the ocean.  I am drawn to it, in all of its complexity, and yet in its unassuming simplicity.  It warms me, and surrounds me, like a hug from a friend who is glad of my return. There is also a sadness there, somewhere.  The feeling that somewhere, sometime, I have left something there.  Something that was a part of me at one time.  Something that I now miss in my being, that is now absent.  Perhaps it is a memory of a different time, of a different place.  All I do know is that the taste of the salt in ocean is the same as the taste of salt in my tears.  Maybe that is why the ocean is so big.  It has to contain the tears of so many.  And it stills welcomes us back without judgement or criticism, mixing together the tears of our souls.