Reflections at the Beach

I

The water pours itself against the sand. Pour? All that energy, all that ephemeral, inexhaustible passion, all that momentary beauty- how do you find quite the right word for it? The water crashes against the sand in an endless exuberant dance, exuding something of the essence of life, stirring something like a vague residual memory in you. Look at the shapes as the froth breaks in and disappears into darkness. Look how it returns in a tremendous triumph. There is no endgame, because the sea knows it doesn’t need to win. It just is. The energy that moves the world.

II

I was part of the sea once, born of it as a single cell. Everything that I am now, every cell, whatever impulse that quickens life came from the sea, the original womb. And having evolved, I am so far from it. Does a protozoa have a soul? What is true? The evolving form or the eternal soul? When, in the long epochs of mutation and adaptation did consciousness enter the scenario? Why us? Why here? Why now? Is there a single overarching consciousness that we’re part of, all of us, including the protozoa? But may be the original cellular beings of the ocean did not need to know consciousness as a separate idea because they were immersed in it, part of it. We separate to question, to explore, to wonder… I am not making sense, because I don’t understand. All I have are questions.

I watch the froth break at the crest of rising water, growing, connecting and expanding into a single line of salt water wave- white threads of temporal life against the black void of Time. The froth splinters into fragments of momentary beauty, only to dissipate in the dark. Maybe that’s the point.

III

The Greeks believed there was a single ocean stream encircling the world’s margin. Oceanus, they named it/him. And here I am, watching its waters caress the sands of South-East Asian beach. Across myriad miles and currents, I might have touched its waters in the other end of the world, in another continent. The sea, crossing all divides, connecting us. Imagine that.

IV

~ I don’t wanna go. ~

The evening has dressed up. There are lights along the promenade, and the infinite expanse of grey-green water slowly losing its hues still invites. I watch from hotel room as chairs are set up, and people make their way towards the waves. But I am saying goodbye, and I don’t want to go. Yet the sea will be here when I am gone, and in a few hours, this will all be a dream.

At moments like these, all of life seems like a series of leave-taking from the one eternal, cosmic celebration-   জগতের আনন্দযজ্ঞ, as Tagore would have called it. We are only allowed little fractions of it, glimpses and taste, and must then make our exits. The song goes on, but my lines are done, and I can’t turn time back to my moments in the sun. And you don’t really want to think these thoughts, but some lingering sorrow greater than you weighs upon your soul like an invisible weight- too light to feel, like the feather of Anubis, yet unshakable. Inexorable. And then you wonder what the point is in singing if all the greatest songs have been sung and heard. All the great songs that you’ll never be a part of. But are you not truly a part of them?

You felt the stirrings of your heart at their hour of glory, and wept at their passing. There will be new songs. Maybe you will write one. And then another. Ceaseless waves crashing and reforming into one eternal symphony.

The earth goes round and round,

The heart makes same old sounds. (Lyrics from Original Song here) 

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*The poem ‘Élan Vital’ was written for an anthology titled Ikigai: the reason for being edited by Janani & Anupama CN. You can find the book on Amazon and Flipkart.  

*All photographs and poetry quoted in this piece are mine.