Tag Archives: the sea

The Sea, The Individual

[voice from the Other Side – Sha’Tara]

It is difficult to express a new thought about the sea. The sea has
fascinated mankind since… when? Since “man” became aware and realized the
sea was where he’d evolved from? Or since the day the created human stood
beside it and saw his first storm and his first sunset? I don’t want to
enter into a creation/evolution debate here but the fact remains: most
people are still fascinated by the sea.

I am fascinated by the sea.

The sea is a living being, as alive as you and me. And you can count on her
changing moods. She is charged with emotions. From the standpoint of a
single human life, she is an ancient being. But she remains very much in a
primitive state, for such an entity. She is young, often angry and quite
intolerant of other life forms. If you would exist within her, or on her,
you have to have adapted well to her ways — she does not adapt to yours.
There are no individual drops of water in the sea.

What I find most fascinating about her is her soliloquy. She talks to
herself all the time and one is easily mesmerized by her voice if one
learns to still the internal dialogue and listen. She murmurs, groans,
thunders, roars and rumbles. Rarely does she remain silent. Is there some
special message in that cacophony? Or is it just the discordant cries of
loss and despair from countless drops of water absorbed and disenfranchised
within the tidal flows of that great monster?

There is another sea I tend to sit and listen to, equally frightening,
equally sad. Equally fascinating.

The human sea. The sounds of the great collectives that crash
against one-another, grinding each other, never understanding. Equally as
brutal as the great waves crashing onto the ancient rocks, inexorably eating
away at them. Individuals ground between these monsters seldom realize
themselves as entities that matter or can make a difference. The human
conundrum. They are victims of movements beyond their control, beyond their
strength to move out of their way, let alone master.

Or so they believe because that is how they are programmed to believe.

I read a comment on one of my essays which stated: “I feel so guilty when I
realize what is being done. I wish I was more involved and would do
more…” The implied notion is that this dis-empowered person cannot do
anything, or much. And of course, within the sea that is true. The sea
does not allow individual drops of water to be empowered. She swallows it
all into her great hungering maw, her absorbing oneness. Not for the
benefit of the individuals thus swallowed, but to sate her own blind,
primitive need: mindless power.

From the visions of *Al’Tara:
There will come a time in your future when those of you who remain alive
here (Future lives? Future generations of your loins? Matters not) will
learn the ultimate lesson of the *ISSA being. You will repudiate all of your
institutions, your collectives, your global madness. You will come as
rag-tag individuals, staggering out of the sea to establish your own
personal little place upon the planet. You will see your neighbours’
campfires and you will greet them with only one thought: “Is there something
of mine I could share with you to help you?” All of your desires will be to
help your neighbour, and to bless and honour the world you walk upon.

You will have no laws, no government, no religion, no rich or poor, no
injustice. You will no longer seek to form power groups. Not even families
will matter. Children will roam freely from house to house, learn freely,
mate freely, create new homes freely. Old people will be revered for their
knowledge, wisdom and experience. They will belong to all, your ultimate
riches temporarily held in their frail and failing bodies. When one of them
smiles upon you and your efforts you will know you are being blessed.

There will be, in this distant future, constant rejoicing upon this world.
And man will live at peace with all of nature.

Two things you will no longer experience: guilt and shame. You will know,
individually, through your own awareness and your ability to know yourself
that even though you choose to bear responsibility for everything that
touches you and you should fail in some way, your efforts in the process
are impeccable. Any failure will not carry blame because your desires are
aligned to the greater good, not to personal gain.

It is not what you accomplish that matters but the state of mind you are in
as you seek to do the greater things. The state of mind you are in as you
contemplate your dream, your vision, your quest, the path you have chosen as
an individual, to walk upon. In self-empowerment. In complete detachment.
In compassion.

Let those who claim to have wisdom understand the true meaning of this
vision:
“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first
earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea.” [Revelation 21:1
– The Bible]

(*Al’Tara: Mind sharer; alter ego; astral and cosmic traveler)
(*ISSA: intelligent, sentient, self aware)

The Sea

                a short story – by Sha’Tara

His greatest remembered impression was of the sea, how it fascinated him. It was not only alive, but relative to the rest of his world, very big. It was always there and it had moods so deep, his heart was always touched by them: moods that frightened him when he stood on the rocky shore and it trembled as waves many times his height would rush at him raging, then sweep back hungrily sucking every loose particle of matter they could grasp; moods that calmed him when a silver moon rose slowly, painting a shimmering trail of soft-hued light over the waters of a windless night.

The sea had many other moods, not nearly as extreme in either terror or beauty, but moods he could identify with. He would strip and dive off a smoothly rounded stone and float among the debris, pretending to be but another piece of half-life the sea had found and tucked between her breasts to be put to sleep by the rising and falling of her tidal breath. He loved her deep laughter as she chased herself through crevices among the stones.

Yes, he loved the sea more than anything else he had discovered on his world. And he wondered why. What was it about the sea that attracted him so, even, and perhaps especially, in her madness? Who was the sea? He knew if he could answer that, he’d know who he was.

He wasn’t the only one who liked the sea. Many came, for as many reasons. They sat on the sand, swam in the cove, or took small crafts out when the weather was calm. He remembered once, asking another much like himself, what brought him to the sea.   “My parents.” was the reply. “No, I mean, what brings you here?” “I told you.” “But, what do you like about it?” “I like watching other people, especially the girls sunbathing or swimming.   I like looking for stuff in tidal pools; throwing sand at the anemones. And I like swimming when the water’s warm enough.”

He opened his mouth about to rephrase his question, then stopped, realizing he was not going to get the answer he was looking for. He wanted to ask, “What calls you here?” but understood intuitively the other had not been called. What he felt for the sea, these others did not feel. They came to get, and to take. He was alone on this shore. Only he could hear the music of the great oceans all the way around his world.   Only he could hear sea birds who glided far away from land, for months on end, crying, calling to one another.   Only he could hear the whales telling their sad story. For they too had found they were alone and the sea could not protect nor save them.

For a new sea had come forth and was covering his world. This was not a sea that gave life. It was full of feet that trampled everything; full of hands that grasped, choked and killed; full of mouths that ate and ate but were never sated. The pieces of this sea looked like him and he would wonder at times if he was of the same material, but when he saw the mouths open and eating their own children, he knew then it wasn’t so.

He knew the history of this new sea. It had begun as an accidental intrusion in a very recent past, had grown into an invasion and become a cancer, a destructive force without any sense of purpose. Nothing of his world was safe from the greedy motions of this chaotic mass. Not even the mass itself, for he saw it had no mind of its own, yet moved as if it was the only legitimate force on his world. It mindlessly absorbed everything it came in contact with, including parts of itself.

As he sat by the sea, he noticed the stars gradually fading from his sight. Less and less of them could be seen. They weren’t being extinguished, he knew that. But they were using the sad blanket of effluents created by the cancerous sea to hide their faces from his world. Even the greatest stars, with memories that spanned billions of years, would no longer look upon his world.

He noticed the songs of the deep changing year by year. The whales’ mourning was ending. The great birds no longer flew over the tossing waves for too many had died. And the stories brought forth from the oceans spoke of death; of rivers of poisonous waters draining from the lands, or oozing from broken ships. And the sea spoke of sands red with blood, of raging fires and billowing black smoke… and sometimes the fires burned over the skin of the sea and he felt her pain and it was his pain.

“What should I do?” he wondered. “What can I do? I have the language of the ancient sea, but not of this new sea. I do not feel its rhythm. I cannot enter into its moods, for they are savage, always at odds with one-another.   I belong to the old way, yet have the form of the new. Why?   Where are those like me? Are they all gone now? Am I the last? Or am I the first?”

The old sea, his mother, rose from her bed and extending a giant arm to his perch, swept him within herself and holding him firmly, cradled him to sleep.  

I Never Knew Him – short story by Sha’Tara

                                                         I Never Knew Him
                          [thoughts from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

            I wanted to know him, but I never did.  He worked for my parents at the house on the Island.  That’s where I spent my time when I wasn’t in school, or college.  Year after year.  I grew up, he got older.  I was raised by wolves, you know what that means.  So he was my life.  And now, they’re all gone.  The wolves ate each other and died.  He cared for them, though he cared for me too.  But he was so careful around me, careful to always have somebody else with us, near us, a witness, so that should something untoward happen the wolves wouldn’t blame him, and eat him.  I never blamed him for being careful; for protecting himself.  And so, I never got to know him.  He was just there.  And then like that, and suddenly, he wasn’t.  I won’t try to explain in words what it means for a nineteen year old girl to be left adrift and alone after swimming her entire life with sharks and being forced to hunt with wolves.  I didn’t like either roles and I did try to pretend I was an exception, an actual human being.  Perhaps being alone now, completely out of the limelight, rich, and with only one uncle as guardian who’s barely aware of my existence, I can finally become what I was born to be. 

            In the back of my mind, there is an image, or perhaps it’s a mirage.  A blue-green sea casts its waves upon a dull white sandy shore.  Palm trees move in the afternoon breeze blowing all along that shore.  Sometimes I see a woman with a young boy walking on the sand.  The boy bends over frequently to pick up things.  Once I watched him from the house’s balcony.  He was picking up starfish and flinging them back into the waves.  The woman, probably his mother, or guardian, walked on ahead slowly, oblivious of the stranded starfish.  It reminded me then of a story you’ve all heard; a story that haunts me today.  It’s about a little girl frantically running up and down a beach after a storm, picking up starfish and flinging them out to sea.  A man, watching her, came to her and said, “There are so many stranded, you can only save a few.  What difference can it possibly make?”  To which the wise girl replied, as she flung another into the waves, “It makes a difference to that one.” 

            It’s easy to forget that lesson.  I’m nineteen, what do I know of life?  I know how to use money to get what I want.  But do I know what I want?  That’s the problem: I don’t, not really.  Sometimes, I think bitterly, if I were a Barbie doll, I could buy myself friends, maybe even a boy friend.  But I’m much, much less than a popular doll.  I’m a rich no-one.

            Even in summer, there are storms.  Sometimes the waves are deep and as they approach the shallows, rise in high combers, or surf, thundering all along the shoreline.  On such occasions I like to run down to the shore and stand just out of reach of the surf as it crashes, runs up the beach, then slithers back.  I walk barefoot and bare-legged through the pushing and pulling roiling waters.  Of course I’m looking for answers.  And in those brief moment I get to put my loneliness on pause.  When I see a starfish on the shore I pick it up and throw it back in the waters, hoping it will not be washed up again.  Yes, hoping.  Then I think about my life, beyond its hellish peacefulness and dulling emptiness.  And how it keeps getting washed up on the shore and is as helpless as the starfish to do anything about it.

            I asked him once about loneliness.  He’d noticed it in me and I know it made him sad that a young girl could be so alone in the world.  I asked how he could live there, in that house, alone year after year.  He’d explain that he didn’t just stay there.  He had family and friends among the fishermen in the village.  I wanted to go with him to meet his friends, or to make my own friends in the village but my parents forbade it.  They’re not our kind of people, said my mother.  You could be kidnapped for ransom, said my father.  The house is safe, and there’s enough space on the estate for you to wander through without danger.  We’ll get you a horse, and a trainer.  I didn’t want a horse. 

            Do you have any idea how lonely it is to be property; to be an estate slave with no purpose whatsoever but to fill a void in someone else’s life; a convenience, a trophy, even if never first prize being of wrong gender?  If you ever feel truly alone you want to go down to the sea shore when the wind tears up the clouds as they whip over the half moon, say around midnight, and you want to sit on a wet rock to just listen to the waves crashing in, one after another, and between each one, listen to the water hissing back down into the roiling darkness.  That is the sound, and the feeling, of the heartbeat of the lonely; the truly lonely.  That is the heartbreaking echoes of loneliness. 

            If only I could give my life a purpose.  Join the throngs of others going on about their business of struggle and survival.  Using my own wits instead of my cursed inheritance of family money.  Using my own hands to create, or just make, something.  Maybe sit down beside a homeless woman and try to feel what she feels. 

            These are my thoughts today.  You see, it was his funeral yesterday and I’m just now beginning to realize how truly lost-lonely I am.  I would like to do something outrageous right now, but my mother said, they’re not our kind, and my father, it’s too dangerous.  And the only person I ever trusted, ever loved, was buried yesterday.  I couldn’t even attend his funeral, I was afraid.