Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever... -fiona apple

What are the sensations you feel when an ocean's nearby?

A salty aroma that breaches your sinuses.

Your pupils dialate to take in the vastness.

Lungs inhale a cool seabreeze.

I'm searching to breach that moment no matter where I am. No matter how far from the ocean I may be, I'm feeling with greater intensity the need to Know the ocean. To be able to listen to the words of the ancient teacher. I seek to understand the flow of life on this planet, the change that has been cultivated for billions of rotations around the sun. The rhythms brought peoples seafaring, wayfinding, moved when the beat of their hearts synced up with the tides of the ocean.

Today while I was reading Billy-Ray Belcourt's A History of My Brief Body, these words stuck out to me:

If I'm more of a toy to be wound up than a man, can I make beautiful things? What I mean is that I don't subscribe to the fantasy of self-sovereignty, knowing fully that the past starts into my brief body like a knife. My hands are made up of a set of hands that puppeteer me. The hands aren't God's. They are History's. Its sores are mine. (pg.26)

What originates a wave in the ocean? Or is there a meaningful distinction between a crash of one wave and the flow of the next? What can be gleaned from the ripples of the past to understand the breaking walls of present?

So begins the first taste of many.