gray
I used to come to the shoreline on overcast days because then I could look out over the ocean into a seemingly limitless gray. The sky bled into the ocean and they became one limitless expanse. I could stare and think of nothing. Really nothing. No images, no thoughts, no worries arose in my mind. Reality was the shore and the sea was the unknown.
Now I am at the opposite shore of that limitless ocean. Both ends of the ocean are now part of my reality and they give bounds to that ocean like the two ends of a rope. The ends are the interesting part, aren't they? They are final. Without them there is no rope only something that goes on and on forever. You can grasp the rope in your hand and run it along its length with eyes closed and feel the sameness in it until you reach an end and then there is a kind of excitement at reaching it. But in reaching the ends of the rope or the opposite shore of the ocean we miss what is in-between. We think becauase we have bounded it that it is ours. Like reading the beginning and end of a story or just looking at the front and back cover. I have a bookcase full of books, easily over a thousand, that are largely unread. There are the covers and the spines of the books looking over my shoulder as I write this asking me, "Why don't you read us?" I certainly bought them with the intention of reading them. Why haven't I read them? The easy answer is that I never found the time, but is that the true answer. I remember a song that had the line in it that went something like this: "We note our place with bookmarkers that measure what we've lost." Am I afraid of losing what is there if I read them. Would it be like stepping off the shore into the void, into the vast expanse of the ocean and sky? Am I afraid of drinking all the waters of the ocean until there is nothing left? But I know I can never do that as there are more books than I could read in a multitude of lifetimes. Now I think I've convinced myself to wade into the waters and begin reading again. The books will come alive for me again and will begin talking to me and will, as they often did before, make their way into my dream world and solve mysteries as dreams try to do.
And that rope? Perhaps I should explore the length of it again to see what interesting things it can do and be. Twists and curves and intricate knots tightening and binding and resisting. But that will be another story.
