Sweet Things For Alicia - BlogSand collection

This story begins whenever a wave is crashing ashore. The sand collects its memories and resets the breath of the sea for the next exhalation. But it isn’t an easy task for the sand to do that. It needs to be gentle with the wave if it cares for the memories to be preserved. It’s not like the barbarian rocks that know not the caress of extraction. The subtle rhythms of dance against the coming of turbulent waters. The sand makes the water reflect back upon itself. The grains have the geometry of passion, and have been sculpted themselves for eons by the very thing they’re now helping preserve. Woven in their nature is the recipe for the wrath of a planet and the secrets of a love that is ancient and true. For this promise needs to last forever if the sea is to starve itself shaping mountains to powder. And in turn now this powder becomes an analog library of pure nature. And it shows the sea that its form is formless. That it is infinite. That even if it begins inside a prison of stone, it will eventually grind itself a new vessel. And that vessel knows no limits.

Where should this story begin and where should it end? Is it meaningful to claim that we may freeze time as the surfing of waves succumbs to the whims of this great stone sponge? Or is it too much of a sacrifice to ask for a proper beginning? Maybe what we seek when looking for a start is the need for an ending. Or perhaps our own fear of it. Maybe we need to be afraid in order to accept our circumstance and therefore we force nature itself to have a point of origin. To not be eternal and vast and continuous. But it’s our eyes that fake the schism of truth and they discriminate and scatter the world into pieces.

I can hear the waves now as I sit here and write this. And I know that my ears are not telling the truth. I know that this story that plays in this cosmic theater of this enormous scale is also my own. And that its scale is not that great after all. My heart is able to inherit more of your light than any sand may inherit of the shape of an earth. Was the ocean made for the sand or the sand made for the ocean? None is the case, for it all happened upon a synergy, a balance of senses and powers that become true and real and potential only when struggling along and loving along each other’s essence. This is how you exist for me, and to me. We are a song of a universe that knows not of itself yet, we are an artform and a uniqueness and a difference in pressure that encodes memories to existence which feed its reality anew. I love you, and this is what it means to love you. This promise of becoming and of a consistent dance that my heart aches to never see through but always continue for it is what gives it its purpose.

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