When the Atlantic Ocean calls, you must listen. Take off your shoes and walk. Have your feet felt so numb and disconnected? Wrapped in rubber and plastic their energy retreats into the solemn musings of the abstract mind. When you were younger didn’t you cavort barefoot in the dirt? Laughed as delicious thick mud squirmed through wiggling toes? Didn’t you squeal with joy with no care for the cold or the heat as the dregs of the earth clotted to pale skin?
Did you dream the land into being? Celebrated your naked form? When the white waves thundered on blackening days you were not afraid (although do not mistake me, it is prudent to hold respect in your heart).
Go and sit with the ocean, remember all of the times you said you were too tired, or too cold, or too old, and yet you are here, reading this, counting the hours until you die. The ocean knows the water in your flesh. The white noise vibrates in deep recognition with your energy; you who are nothing less than the children of gods.
Go and sit with the ocean. Understand the poetry of her wild swells, the sublime nature of her moon-struck tides. I do not know what you will find. That discovery is yours to make. Only I promise the journey is worth it. Only there is nothing in life more important that your heart rushing in recognition, as the water calls you home.