Every flow has an ebb. The ebb feeds the next flow. And that’s how it goes on.
I see the water in a surged wave pull back, creating space. The fury and noise abate, giving way to a point of utter silence, while the ripples lose their aggressive form to willingly fold into the larger ocean. Drops no longer splutter, foam dissipates, white against blue becomes only blue, and that blue merges with the blue of the sky above, so it is all one.
In that singular moment of pause, i have no definition, i have no identity for the wave. It just is, part of a bigger body, an indefinite canvas. It exists and yet, does not. It waits, without expectation and with the certain knowledge that it will take shape again.
As surely as it died in the ebb, it reemerges. A new flow, it has an unfamiliar yet impressive energy, surging to its own tempo. It is a different vision of droplets and ripples and foam, completely unrelated to its predecessor, yet fulfilling the same purpose, standing out for its individuality yet fitting into the whole in a seamlessly natural way. It has coherence in itself and within its surroundings; the ocean would be incomplete without it.