I sunk to the bottom of the ocean once. Though it wasn't really all that grand. Everything that I saw was either shrouded in darkness, or a silty haze. The water was cold and the currents were violent. They ****** me too and fro.
Now, don't get me wrong, I like it there at the bottom of the ocean, it's calm and it's dark and it soothes the fires of a soul like mine. The passage there however is the part that hurts so much, for before you may sink into the silky silt of the ocean floor and become neighbors with the *****, you must descend through the turbulence and the dangerous anglerous fish that inhabit the places betwixt.
I suppose the hardest part about the journey is saying goodbye to the sunshine that you grew to love, after having spent time, from the ocean floor.
Someone drags you up and you see the sun and you start to laugh more, and you start to love more and everything starts to feel warm and beautiful again. You look at that someone that brought you up and wrought you into shape and you see such beauty. They shine like the sun, no, they are even better.
But sometimes,
They abandon us.
That is not to say we are doomed to sink back down, they do not hold us here, as we do not hold them. We are free to remain on the surface with the sunlight.
Most of us choose to jump back in, though.
Let the ocean swallow us whole once again.
Some swim back to the surface, determined to, perhaps, be more than a friendly newspaper conversation with a crustacean.
However, many just live there, unwilling, unable, to go anywhere else.
I sunk, to the bottom of the ocean once. Or twice, and a few times after that. Always finding a reason to swim back, sometimes I am dragged back. No matter which way though and honestly, how matters not, I always end up back on that beach.
Waiting, watching the ocean. Wondering, pondering the possibilities and if I should wade back out and sink down once again.
The ocean surely is a frightful thing.