Welcome to the silence. I am surrounded by water, the sea stretching out as far as I can see, the same before me, behind me, aside me. Gently, persistently wearing my hull, wearying my soul, wearing me away. Weary I am.

All alone in the journey, this journey with no definite beginning, only infinite end. The closer the horizon becomes, the farther it falls away. There is no language here that can be understood or transcribed; I speak in tongues that fall silent on hearing ears. I will my limbs to raise, my body to rise, I want to stand and scream and rock this boat against the endlessly calm blue, my only companion, my captor. Yet I am bound by incapacity, I cannot move.

Sometimes the ocean carries forth debris, cast-away remains of a cast-away life. I cast my bucket into the sea, trying to catch the remains of another time, another place, to trudge them up from just below the surface, where they floats and threaten to sink, taken by the dark depths of deep, never to rise again. I examine pieces that do not make a whole. The body reacts, in ruminative recognition, while the mind sputters like an engine long-since started, frantically searching for some spark, any connection, and finding none, with none to be found.

So I sit, so I wait, staring unseeingly into the darkness that blinds me and the light that binds me.

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