Taking A Swim on the Wild Side.

Don’t wait any longer. Dive in the ocean, leave, and let the sea be you. ~ Rumi

I did not wait. ~ A.S.

At times you long for the sea and long for its embrace. You decide to walk away on a sudden impulse, around sunset, when nothing counts for you but an irrepressible envie de mer. So you just walk away, avid to meet the sea, you drive away from home with a salty, frothy taste on the lips.

The road is long because you want to escape as far as you can – though never as far as you would like. You see the sun is almost gone, but the dusky red light is enough for you to spot a rocky cove unseen. It is time to stop and let everything go, run down a rough path; it’s only a short one to freedom, for once.

You hide your keys (the only technology you had to bring with you) under a pebble, toss everything on the ground, shoes first, everything, walk toward the sea.

The sea reacts like a wild horse at first, restive, snorting at your intrusive foot. But you let yourself in, you let yourself go, past the impeding rocks underlying the shore, stepping further and further.

That’s it, you’re in.

Now you dive. The water is warm despite the failing sun. You swim further away from the land to escape the warmth, entirely naked.

A while passes then you decide to return to the shore. There, you move slowly to feel the wind swirling on you and the water streaming down your thighs. You can’t remember the last time your body felt something, claimed something that belonged to it not you. So you let the wind flow on your skin and you don’t care.

You dive again with a new awareness, feeling the currents between your legs. This time you are free; you needn’t worry about clothes, decency, the look or the judgment of others. You feel perfect and complete. You could have almost said you were truly yourself.

Because of that, or not, you detest civilization in this very moment. You detest it forever, but you are lying to yourself and you know it. Do not philosophize in such moments unless you really want to seem ridiculous. Yet you argue in some sort of delusional aquatic monologue that you could not love something that diminishes Man so much, while claiming to find your perfection here. Does one element really achieve you so perfectly and so fully? So you say. And you say more than this. You say you can’t rely on anything that does not replenish your senses and awaken your belief. There, you couldn’t help being ridiculous.

Point being, you trust the sea.

A while passes; you don’t distinguish anything anymore. The darkness is full. You see half a moon, sleep on the water surface, scrutinize the stars, smile at them, utter a few words just for you that you wish they could hear, close your eyes, sleep, and you have never felt freer. You feel there is nothing more human than owning your full complete body and owing it to the sea.

From afar, you glance at the land, hear the rumbling of the cars passing you by. You contemplate the calm sea free of humans. It is somewhat reassuring. The last ones have left back to their homes. Eating, shouting, moving, making noises, leaving you alone.

You swim farther, farther away, until you don’t distinguish where you are anymore. Complete darkness has fallen and you see absolutely nothing, but the sea is your light. Or so you would like to believe. Could you lose yourself into the sea? How could you feel lost when you feel so warm and true in its arms? You embrace it again, forcefully. Why were you nervous this time? Your fear has betrayed your humanity. Suddenly, your tears add to its abundance. You are an island in the sea.

Then you stand, try to remain still, look again at the stars.

The sea is your peace. Now fresh, honest, pure.

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