When It Rains, I dream of the Ocean...

Lately, the rain has become strange!

As I travel, the sky is open, then as I pass a street, suddenly it starts to get dark, the wind blows and it starts to rain 

So, I quicken my footsteps, with an urgency to reach the destination sooner, to prevent myself from being cold, and wet

Another street passes by and lo behold! the clouds retreat, carried away by the wind, no more it rains...

There is no consistency, no surety in the life, as the second tickle by, there are so many things that are beyond our control, except death, that is the finality

That finality is what compels us, moves us. to act, to brave the ocean. The ocean that we know deep down inside, we may not be able to cross. Perhaps, this flesh and bones will melt away, before we reach the shore on the other side. Like those before us, we pray solemnly to the gods, those known and unknown, but when as usual they are deaf to our plea we can only turn to the gods that live within us, the breath in our body, the sanctity in our soul, the purpose in our mind, so that we may not drown, like the rest

The ocean of humanity represents a depth of collectivity, deeper and deeper within walls of walls surrounded so that those partitions may keep strangers anchored to their pre-ordained purpose as different, as our own, that changes with the changing priority. Their individual perception of truth is worlds apart from our own, we can't, we will never understand them to their completion even after spending a lifetime. For them, those walls within walls represent firm safety, but for us, those very walls represent the shackling of the free spirit, they constitute the path of mediocrity; a face among billions, forgotten in the infinity

Yet, we realize a common narrative between us; because our origin, our root is the same; we; the ocean of humanity and this fragile body which we call our own. Through it, we discover a symbol of balance, at least for our physical body that contains our soul, it survives, to drift on, using these weak hands and clumsy feet to paddle, to survive challenges, live another day. To survive, we conserve what little precious elixir we have, that elixir called the purpose of our life which guides us forward towards a direction with a supernatural instinct weaving a grand design towards fruition. Whatever you may call it, in essence, it is a gesture of defiance for survival despite the relentless pursuit of the heat called time overhead, and hungry sharks called procrastination below. 

 Days go by, one after the another, and they delude us with their harmless uniformity, giving us a sense of predictability and as we sway with the waves, drifting for days aimless, on a piece of fragile plank called life, it becomes easier for us to forget that we have something far precious than our life itself, for we have hope, for we have a purpose. When we lose hope, we lose the purpose, and as we drink all, all elixir that which we had saved because all these glorious purposes seem so distant, like they only existed in the bygone past. We live in a mundane world with the feeling of our existence dimming in the passing days, and the devil's advocate hammers each moment of uncertainty with "To live another day, as same as today, is all for naught..." 

So the majority of us feel dead inside, and that death overwhelms us, from the core of our being to the entire. Thus, we are drowned like the rest under the ruthless might of humanity, "Those humans without true humanity" and now we are one of them

Yet, some of us reach the isles of memory, where momentary happiness blooms unexpectedly, though those deary isles can't give us; few who have survived what we want, for they can't sustain our hungry gut, fill our desolate heart, quench our thirsty soul, burn away our lonely spirit. Still, what they can do is, console the hunger, pacify the heart, appease the soul, and spark hope in our spirit, though how false they might be, these isles of small memories, are what keeps us going, those are the memories of the rarest kind, of happy times, of ebullient laughter, of unfettered joy, which puts a kind of reminiscent smile on a weathered man's face. 

"When it rains, 

I dream of the Ocean

deeper than any

wide, harsh but sublime

I dream of the Other Shore

where my lovely lady awaits

to fulfill the promise of return 

long overdue, with patience

I dream of days as same as the next

passing in a blur, I am not myself

I am the waves floating among waves

I am the lost soul, lost in time again

I dream of Isles akin to an oasis in the desert  

where my lost soul reach out 

for precious memories, to embrace

I rediscover my purpose, for the journey to begin

                        

When It Rains, I dream of the Ocean..."

Art Credit: https://www.reddit.com/r/raining/comments/8gheqp/the_kiosk_pascal_campion/

https://giphy.com/gifs/sea-mar-jmz-IZL0IaoIEccBjzNt8o/links