Ocean's Pulse

It’s loud and rumbling, as if seething with unrestrained anger. Like a thunderstorm trapped beneath the surface of the water, desperate to break free. The dark navy waves curl over the damp sand, densely packed by the relentless force of the water hitting it time and time again. As I step closer, my bare feet sink into the cool, damp earth, and then – without warning – my ankles are gripped by the bone chilling embrace of the sea. It’s as though something within it is pulling me in, urging me to follow, though I don’t fully understand what awaits. 

The waves, frothing with white, crash over my head. In a heartbeat I am swept under the surface, thrust into a swirling turmoil. I feel alien to the ocean, it seems to be rejecting me, as though it knows I don’t belong – like oil and water, I am not meant to mix. The waves push against me, relentless, until I lose the solid ground beneath my feet, the sand on the seafloor now a distant memory. I fight against the tide, breath held tight, turning, spinning, struggling for a grip that never does come. Each wave rises and breaks with no mercy, pulling me deeper into its churning depths. 

And then, suddenly, it all stills. The crashing sounds fade, as if they’ve been swept away by the distance, and the vastness of the ocean stretches before me, endless navy in every direction. I flip onto my back, letting the water carry me. The current pulls me out, then gently brings me back in, rocking me like a lullaby in the deep, rhythmic dance of the sea. I let go, surrendering to its rhythm, breathing in the salty air as my heart gradually calms, slowing with each breath to a beat… beat… in… out… in… out. I lie there, suspended, breathing the very breaths of the ocean itself.