I always wonder when I look out into the ocean if it’s looking back at me. When I ponder the depth of its waters, does it ponder the hardness of the rocks on the shore? When I stare out into the distance of the waves, do they stare back into the woods behind me? When I investigate the fish and other marine creatures, does the ocean study the fur creatures on the land?
Two opposites right up against one another: The flowing substance of water and the
hardness of solid rock. The ocean says,
“Come and join me!” The rock says, “You
shall come no further.” If we could
shrink the Earth down to the size of a beach ball, the ocean would be nothing
but tiny puddles in larger rocky basins.
All around and all below the ocean, we would see the rocks, like giant,
strange-shaped cups.
In my mind, that solves the question of which came
first. The rocks give form to the
formless. Without containment, there
could be no recognizable ocean. Without
the shape of the rocks, there is no ocean to define. Of course, the rocks themselves were once a
fiery liquid, but we do not speak of that to the ocean. We keep that secret from her. To the ocean, the rocks are the origin of all
things, and everything must have a beginning in order to feel secure. But to the rocks, the story is more
complicated.
The rocks hem the ocean in. |