above an ocean of possibilities we are cloudwatching for regrets
How can I intertwine the ocean and sky?
To begin with: a memory.
There was only one time my cousins and I were allowed to stay at a nearby beach past five in the afternoon. While I had no concrete concept of tidal ranges back then in my early years of elementary school—I knew the shoreline was the safest option to stay on. The waves grew in size as the sun was setting. My cousins, maybe in impulsiveness, swam away from the shore, lifebuoys in tow. I followed. That late afternoon was the last time I dared to face the ocean head-on, its waves looming over our frail, growing bodies.
It was stupid. The possibility of drowning lingered at the back of my mind the entire time. But the sea felt visceral, the waters hugged every part of our bodies. My feet were barely touching the ocean floor while my hands clutched the floater I was wearing. We waited for one large wave over another in nervous excitement, releasing childlike laughter after a wave would clash against our bodies. It made me afraid but I think that was my first vivid memory of falling in love with the sea in all its trepid glory.
I wanted to start with this reckless and intimate part of my childhood because so often my family would return to that same seaside and my thoughts would wrestle between staying at our cottage or submerging myself into the deeper parts of the water. To stay on land or return to the intimidating comfort of the ocean. That mental knot between certainty vs. uneasiness and faith vs. worry was something I’m all too familiar with, not just when attempting to take my first plunge into the water but in other aspects of this life. Often I’d dive right into one thing with clarity. But on more frequent days I am engulfed with regret. That specific feeling of tightness would swallow me and would push me toward the city of shame. Arriving on that land I’d look up and notice the different forms of clouds taking shape, constantly moving, never settling in one portion of the blue expanse. In various sizes, they’d spread, and I’d always imagine them as manifestations of my guilt about the loss of things that could have been.
It’s a tiring cycle of being afraid. But I want to let everything happen to me: beauty and terror. To, as Rainer Maria Rilke writes,
Keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know by its seriousness.Give me your hand.
Those who sleep with worry. Those who speak in hesitant, awkward tones. People whose sentences come off strained and shaky. People who second-guess themselves and second-guess their loved ones and second-guess the way gravity feels like on their feet and second-guess the woman walking from across the street glancing at them and second-guess their neighbor and second-guess life and second-guess the choices they did because who knows, suppose then, imagine that, what if? What now?
There is a country to cross you will
find in the corner of your eye, in
the quick slip of your foot—air far
down, a snap that might have caught.
And maybe, for you, for me, a high, passing
voice that finds its way by being
afraid. That country is there, for us,
carried as it is crossed. What you fear
will not go away: it will take you into
yourself and bless you and keep you.
That’s the world, and we all live there.
— William Strafford, For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid
Our trembles will not go away. I doubt mine will. Who is to say dread will leave us so easily?
I want to believe—no, I choose to believe
That I was made to become a sanctuary
Fear won't go away but I can keep it at bay
And these invisible walls
Just might keep us safe…
Is it courage or faith to show up every day?
To trust that there will be light
Always waiting behind
Even the darkest of nights
And no matter what?
— Sleeping at Last, Six
Some of us were not taught how to hold our disquiet with curiosity, on how to mindfully walk with doubt and unrest. Our anxiety lingers in the air like a frosty breath exhaled during winter. But may we continue with attentiveness to our fears, to sit with the things that terrify us, that make us kneel in defeat, and wonder how to keep it at bay rather than avoid it. To let our wariness take us into ourselves and bless us and keep us. May we show up every day in courage or faith or in the hope that one day, we will arrive at the limitless opportunities reflected by the ocean and the sky and let hope and fear make their home in between everything.
A lily for you,
Czar
uahh... i only had the chance to sit down to read this now and i am always amazed by how considered ur words are.... like everything u say holds so much weight.... and the photos you share are so beautiful !! always honoured to be able to read little snippets of ur life and thoughts <3