The Waves

"Everything I do is judged,
And they mostly get it wrong,
But oh well--
Cuz the bathroom mirror has not budged,
And the [man] who lives there can tell
The truth from the stuff that they say,
And [he] looks me in the eye
And says 'Would you prefer the easy way?
No, well OK then,
Don't cry.'

And I wonder if everything I do,
I do instead
Of something I want to do more,
The question fills my head.
I know that there's no grand plan here:
This is just the way it goes...." -Ani DiFranco



It fills me. This inky leaden sea. It starts in my head. The same place it always starts. The auditory canal is the first spot to be deluged. Rushing, surging, crashing swells of salty black seawater, roiling over and over again in unbridled waves. This nautical Judas kiss. This Aquarian betrayal. This tide tempting me with sleep. I can hear it.

It is morbid, for sure. But all the books -- those touchy-feely how-to-write guides -- command you to write what you know. Well this is what I know, have known, and may always know: the slap and surge of a great toxic sea.

Many say that to write about death, about depression, is macabre, unhealthy, perverse. Yet the Buddhists say it is quite beneficial to ruminate upon one's demise. To see it as just another step in the staircase. Another tier of the towering cake. One more cautious footfall on the stone-ridden path.

The Balinese Holy Man told me I would live to 100. Though I adore him, I do not believe him. No, I think Death will come a bit sooner, though of course I can't say when. But I can count on its arrival some day, and on that day, it will perch, unassuming, at the foot of my bed. I will converse with it. I will hear its dirging yet thoughtful case. And then I will make an informed decision.

I make no sense. But that troubles me hardly at all. For there's not a lot of sense in anything. If there were, I'd be able to write this better. I'd be able to describe this ocean more accurately. I'd be able to reach through your bluing computer screen and hold you and implore you to tell me that I am not alone.

That I am not alone.

The smell of roses is everywhere, though I don't see a single stem. The scent is on my fingers and in my clothes. Even soaked saltily, it's there.

It may appear in these lines. Can you smell it?

The sea is getting louder. Can you hear it?

Can you hear it?