Saturday, April 23, 2011


You lift your head up, closing your eyes because the salty sun harshly attacks your sight. Your dripping skin, sopping wet from its own exhaust, is encased in the static quiet of the swollen air. You move slowly, body beaten down by the heat of a tired army that relentlessly tramples your motivation, step after step, beat by beat. Your only resolve from this undying heat and pounding humidity is to escape into the ocean water, a greater and grander pool of life than the sun or the earth upon which it lays. Standing in its presence is to stand in the company of a giant. You hope it swallows you whole, gently, as you walk into its gaping mouth.

You stride into its vast expanse of a stomach. You dip into its cool glassy liquid. You begin to ride its stampeding waves instead of crashing into them, triumphant and at ease.

“Where do you come from?” asks the blue giant, finally accepting your entrance into its rippling ribs. You close your eyes and let the chilled insides and smooth embraces envelop your aching body, sinking into and in between your every curve and fold, exciting your skin.

“I come from land. I come from dry crumbling Earth--sand, rocks, cement. I come from tense active places, stress inducing, crime producing, smog-ridden lands of waste and toxins drivin by the mundane lifestyles of a society ruled by machines. But it is my home. And I understand it. I am a product of it, and it is comforting.” You float carelessly on your back, gliding along the giant’s skin. Your eyes stay closed.

“Stay with me,” demands the Ocean. “Here you can live happily--free of the constraints of your home. I will take care of you, and give you anything you want. There are many interesting and beautiful creatures here. They will take you into my depths. It is cold there, the sun can’t reach you, nor the poisons contained in the air above. It is quiet, my body is heavy and the pressure will blanket you, protect you. ” The giant re-affirmed his grip on your waist. It now yearns for your presence beneath and you begin to feel a vortex circling your body. It gives you an unsettling tug. “You should come with me.”

“I can’t.” You rotate your body upright and begin to paddle in place, your legs kicking free from the undercurrent, stirring up the beginnings of a plan clouded by desire. “It’s hot, but now I feel refreshed. I should go home. Thank you for letting me rest here.”

“Your home is here now,” whispered the giant. As you kick your legs faster you notice that you’re slowly sinking. You keep kicking into the emptiness that soon loses its substance and begins to pull at your feet. Each attempt at upward movement is futile. The ocean pulls you down, one foot at a time, one kick at a time, it into its body.

by Martyna Alexander

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