Simple questions most often torment me in the most complicated ways. A burden with consquential decision is often well understood, comprehended and realized.However when you think too deeply about the most simple questions, apart from being confusing, they are unnecessarily draining. To put to an end to the struggles of an habitual overthinker like me ,I finally answer an question that often perplexes me.
The sea or the mountains?
I still remember the most memorable vacation that I had with my family, on a new year’s Eve at an overcrowded beach with commercial messages and the expectation of exotic in everyone’s mind.
As I stood feeling contnently and quite unexpectedly estranged from a crowd of people ,my trousers not rolled up high enough. I could feel the sand shifting below my feet, making me feel as though I was being stilted forwards.The cool breeze full with the smell and hopes of a new start from across the globe flowing in my face pushing me backwards and the settings sun freezing the time.The water gently stroking and engulfing my feet before retreating back quickly, allowing me no time to understand it or behold it while composing my thoughts.
A moment not long enough to be certain, but not brief enough to discourage hope. In the midst of confusion of motion, time and the changing colors. I felt like I was on the brink of something vast and vague as the sea itself. I felt like I was being transported in another dimension full of uncertainty but possessing wondorous excitement of a naive child almost silly in his lack of depth. It felt like a daze so new that it tingled inside ,demanding permenace.
A peace due to the absence of comprehension and a lack of need for the same. A moment that would never be the same, if stirred or jolted back to reality.Carrying me to something dreadfully alluring. With the vast sky challenging me even when it was suppose to lay as a protective shield. The enormity ,so peculiar that it didn’t make you feel small. Even while magnifying, it made the beholder feel grand and visible in it’s luminous light, whitening textures for recurring seconds, and calmly violent winds.
That moment with no concept of spectrum or concrete is etched in my memory and gushed in urgently when I read Ayn Rand’s ‘The Fountainhead’ years later.Even in the difference of narratives, that stir of storm filled my soul until I finally closed the doors to that living entrance of a flowing, crashing and moving dream.
To me it was extraordinary and now that intangible always pulls me towards a sea.Towards all the longing to feel that dangerous chaos that rejuvenates.