Jan 14
Sayornis p.'s picture

The ocean (omnipresence and its relationship with humanity)

The ocean —
vast, seemingly infinite in all directions.
Humanity makes its place within these waters;
Most of them stay here on the surface
Keep swimming, tread water,
Rarely dip their head below the surface, or reach for anything higher than the mist that settles on it.
It’s a simple life, to never be
reckless, curious. To live in the present. 
They tend to forget how big their world is, stuck in a bubble of warm waters. 
Safer, maybe; it’s hard to tell                                         
whether their actions are out of ignorance, fear, stupidity, or 
                 trust 
that the world will 
lead them where they’re meant to be. 
Maybe a combination. Maybe all of them. Maybe none. Maybe they’re not as different as they seem. 

There are others, though, that stare through the depths of the water and cannot help but reach, dive 
                    Until their lungs are close to being crushed.
They have never been complete, always searched for more, more
For some, it’s out of greed — they have forgotten how beautiful the world is, put it to numbered values on a chart that plots their success. 
For many, it’s out of desperation.
They find, (like an addiction) the deeper they go, the more they want to venture farther. Its profundity is intriguing, truer than anything. For many, it is what they are looking for — it gets closer to filling that gap than anything else ever did.
Maybe that’s the wrong way to phrase it. Maybe it’s more like it confirms the realization that they are infinite — nothing will ever complete them, because in the end, we are stardust. You cannot complete something that isn’t a material value. We are timeless; everything, anything, anywhere, eventually (and now). But it takes being consumed in dark ocean, spilling water from your nose and lips and eyes to see it (to be it). 

The oceans’ waters are everything anyone wants them to be, if they know where to look. 

They see all there is to see. They know things, know the world, know more than the surface-dwellers could ever dream. They may finally look up from the depths and see us in all our beauty, all our pain, all our flaws and our love and our grief, see the cycle of life and death and everything in between. Everything is beautiful and everything hurts.


But, like all things when it comes to people, it comes with a price. 


Humans, by nature, seem to be a paradox. Our own curiosity — what drives us, gives us life, defines us (the urge to swim deeper) — is the very thing that gets us killed (crushed under its weight). Because knowledge, in all its glory, is a burden. 
It weighs us down, pulls us under. It makes the human bearer tired — bone-dead tired, brain-tired, soul-tired. Tired of confines and webs and complexities that we can comprehend but never fix. We are too big for our mortal bodies, and our knowledge makes us tired because it reminds us of all we could be, and all we are. 
In the ocean, the deeper you sink, the harder it is to get back up. 
Like Icarus, if they sought knowledge instead of freedom. We both share the same grief when leaving their respective limits of the earth. 
The only difference is that Icarus dies when he falls from his perch, and we die by refusing to leave ours. One's grief means they are doomed, plummeting away from their love, and ones’ grief means they will leave to see another day (allowed to take another breath).