Heavenletters

I knew You are a poet at heart.

Like waves, the exterior of your life goes up and down. Unlike you, the ocean does not magnify the event called waves. The ocean understands that the waves are waves of itself, and that it is affected not. Waves build, and waves come down, and the ocean is ocean as before.
The ocean doesn't become bored with the process of itself. The ocean likes the rolling of its waves, as if a hand were drawing a picture of ocean enfolding itself — over and over again.
To the ocean every wave seems new, and the ocean continues to row itself, dipping itself in and out of the water, propelling itself forward, swooping up and then whirling down.

Waves of myself, all of this and this and this. Maybe tomorrow I will know alien and dangerous and promising and alarming and opposing and supporting and depressing and uplifting again. Maybe tomorrow I will see things to avoid and things to seek. But not now.