Waiting

Every evening, she sits by the beach. As night falls, the sky darkens, the stars arise, she just sits. The waves get louder as the din of the city recedes. The silence is amplified, as is the sound of the waves rising, falling, crashing on the shore, and going back – an eternal dance that began when the earth began, an eternal dance that will end when the earth ends.

She waits, as if waiting since eternity. She looks at the horizon, now dark and scarcely visible, as the dark ocean meets the dark sky in an unknown place, a place of merger and magic. How many have sat on this beach before her, thousands of years before her. And how many will sit again.

She will grow old, gray, wrinkled. The beauty of her youth will turn to the beauty of a wise old face, with many lines on it, each marking a lesson from life, a scar borne and survived, and the memory of a glimmering joy, that still lights her up, even if grief is never far away. Then one day, she will die, bearing many secrets in her chest. She, the woman who passed away, as everyone must, would have been known to many, yet unknown to everyone.

Tonight, deeply alive, expectant, filled with longing, she sits there, and waits. Waits for her lover to return. She waits for the next wave to crash on the shore and disintegrate. She waits for the moon, her only friend, to be covered over by the clouds. Completely alone, still, quiet, she is untouched by the chaos of the city that lies behind her.

Like the earth itself, in the dark of the night, she waits, to cease to exist in the embrace of that which alone is. As the night proceeds, she becomes nothing, and further less. The sounds from around die out. The concerns of the day fade away. Nothing is left. Only she, her silhouette, her face, the waves, and the dark mystery of the night.

 

~ by tdcatss on January 8, 2018.

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