#25: The Wide Ocean

white and black moon with black skies and body of water photography during night time

Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

Black skies, night breeze, liquid moon. Darkness under, over, around you.

A fear re-experienced on a ferry, a cruise, a trip to the beach. No matter how harmless the location, it finds its way back. When your feet disappear in the murky sea, when the waves open up and swallow you under, when the motions beneath you grow louder, when your arms flail, helpless to keep oxygen in your lungs.

I am afraid of the ocean, I think because I have recognized how helpless I am while floating on the water. While I haven’t swam in a year or more, there’s a certain dread that falls over me when in the ocean. I remember going to Lighthouse Park and looking out to the water, but feeling disappointed in how inscrutable the world beneath the waves looked. Imagine childhood wonder and optimism, but twisted and made negative by the feeling of seaweed on your feet during your first trip to the beach. And then picture a cruise ship, sailing off with family and friends, where a majority of the time is spent in the cabin puking your sickness away. They say many of our more instinctual feelings and tendencies can be traced back to our childhood; for example, when I was young, one of my aunt’s meatballs got stuck in my throat, and I still to this day dislike meatballs because of it. I would bet that my aversion to the sea is also due to some childhood experience like the ones I mentioned.

Recently, I helped my sister by proofreading and offering suggestions on her high school English paper on Wide Sargasso Sea, a novel by Jean Rhys. The story’s setting, in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, places the plot in a stasis where it cannot move without feeling related to its setting. The setting thus dominates the conversation of the story, its themes and characters, their motivations and inspirations. I feel, in a way, that certain settings can dominate our lives; just as much as they dominate stories, they may also control storytellers.


Beneath the sky

When I was young and ignorant

The Earth was flat.

Trees hadn’t made any sounds,

Even after collapsing then

Inside a lonesome wood.

When I was sick I saw no signs;

But of course the black and gold letter

Below the telescope stood out.

It said not to look at the sun

Through my demonic lens,

Or your eyes would burn

Into charred cinders.

Beneath the sky I knew nothing

About insight, and intrigue, and instinct.

Always one step closer, farther

From the truth up there.

I looked once more in the lens,

Toward space’s greatest inferno.

In a moment the Earth grew round,

Stretched its ends to their seams,

Stitched the Pacific and Atlantic together,

Blew the boundaries apart,

and Bled entire nations into one.

When I removed myself from the stars

The vision faded before me,

Exploring through the woods

Brought me no prior solace;

All the trees had fallen, silently.

I felt the ground shift underneath me.

Restoring itself to my youthful simplicity,

Once my face grew wrinkles.

When I was older the telescope

Disappeared with my vision and my innocence

And the summer sun.

Flower in the shade

Today is the day when you fall back in
And the atmosphere calls us home;
Your dreams are so grand and homely
But release your head from the stars
You’re lost in the gravity of
Black-holes, the guilty life-suckers,
The dark moons that command the sea.
So run now from their push and call,
And seek a skyward destiny;
The world is full of song and dance
A lifeless home to circumstance
And we can cut down all the trees
In a swing of the axe, but you’d
Still be a flower in the shade.


Into the natural world
I dive headfirst
Brain charged and sure
But one must abandon
Their head in the ground;
In the blistering sunsets
Our hearts take-over
The streaming lights
Touch the soul
The auburn muses sing
For the purity of the mind,
While it’s lifted
From the Earth
To the domain of the 

Mixed Emotions

Ahh ha-ha!
Bright today
Dim tomorrow
Sink away
Rise later
Seein the sun at Night
Ain’t so hard 
If you know where to look
Adjust your telescope
Take a peak
Sagarmatha summits
Lurk in plain sight
When you see em
Skies part
Life starts.


Why’s the terrain so cruel?

A misstep leads to pain

A bad decision, solidarity

An immoral dilemma

An unethical quandary

Earth’s cruelty strikes hot

Against thick criminal skin

Punishing punishers,

Violent vagabonds

and Ferocious fiends

Vengeance is sightless,

Like storms, quakes,

Hurricanes by the shore.

This land wasn’t made – It was torn by the seams –

Not for you and me, but the powers-that-be

And so the indignant, with strife and skin

Become the Reachers, our deadliest sin.


Bury the light


Sunlight is overrated

Bury it, bury it deep below

Into a small cardboard box

Of childhood memories

Not a kid anymore, not now

It’s time for change

Stubborn satisfaction flew away

Bury the light, bury the light

The spot behind the swing-set

Is nice and dry, aching for you

To feed it the rain, the sun

And your enlightened

Dreams of yesteryear in a box.



The world is made of matter

Matter made of atoms

And atoms are made of themselves


The world is home to life

Which demands self-satisfaction

Leaving traces of the alive and dead.


The world is home to chaos

Chaos full of fear and hatred

And riotous greed with dedication


The world is home to peace

Peace as an absolutely goal

The releasing of pain and pleasure


The world is home to order

Order reaching nowhere and everywhere

The authoritarians thrive.


The world is home to the world

And without a home no one really lives

And without life, there’s no world.


So I guess everything depends

Upon each other’s jobs, responsibilities

In order to create the complicated ecosystem

We call Earth

But know as home.



What’s the call of the seasons?

Spontaneous 90 degree weather signals

Summertime is in full-force

Winds of change command attention

When’s the next spring?

When’s the next autumn?

Warmth warms and cool air cools

But the weather improves not

Summer is summer

And summer never changes.

Not Rain


Don’t call it rain

It’s not a storm

Don’t call it wind

It’s not a tornado

Don’t call it earth

It’s not quaking

Don’t call it rain

Don’t call it rain.