Thursday, July 28, 2016

Ten Billion Days and One Hundred Billion

Surging and receding . . .
Surging and receding . . .

The sound of the waves rolling in and rolling back out has echoed across this world for hundreds of
millions of years, a long reach toward eternity.
Not once in that span has it ceased rocking and crossing this blue world, sometimes gently, sometimes powerfully; stormy as the morning, calm as the deep of night.

Surging and receding . . .
Surging and receding . . .

The sea rolls in and rolls back out. One hundred billion shimmering stars rise between the wave crests, only to sink back into the vastness of the waves with the first dim light of dawn.
On a night of exceptional darkness, a faint shooting star cuts across the void, trailing a long tail of light, then falls behind the nacreous line of the horizon, its glow becoming an unfading scar—a memory in the space between the stars.

Gradually, the constellations change their shapes; white stars take the place of blue stars, red stars take the place of orange, each making way for the next as they slide past each other to weave new shapes in the sky.

Surging and receding . . .
Surging and receding . . .
Time that knows no haste flows over the waves as they roll in and roll back out, through night and into day and into night again.

The vast flow of time leaves traces of its passage across everything without exception. It moves within everything that is, mischievously touching, changing—sometimes destroying. Not even the sea is spared, for over one hundred billion days and nights, the starlight that falls upon its surface, the wind and rain that blow across it, the brilliance of the burning sun that warms it, and the snow that whirls in eddies around its frozen waves, all are absorbed and reduced into individual molecules, tiny motes that show no hint of their vast history. In the bottomless sediments only a vague memory remains.

The sea: it contains within itself the long, long story of time, a perpetual record of shapes that will
never be seen again.

Of wind and cloud and wave, of bright days and dark nights.
The sea has always been time’s closest confidant.

Surging and receding . . .
Surging and receding . . .

Hundreds of billions of days and nights roll in and roll back out again. All the while the waves sound
ceaselessly, rolling and roiling in unending motion.

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