Finding our metaphor

She was born an ocean, all calm philosophy and turbulent contention. He was born a dormant volcano, tall, majestic and strong, with fire stewing in his core, never released and never changing. Tectonic plates shifted, time wore and brought them together, and her waves lapped against his secure exterior, attempting to wear down the battlements and coax the core.

This is how mythology is born, isn’t it? Finding in our own stories of triumph and loss, of heartsick sorrow and joy, connections to the terrifyingly elating splendor of the natural world around us. Everyone has metaphors. They may change their whole lives through, or they may be the same with only subtle changes over the course of their lives.

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06 May 2012

I’ve always loved the ocean. The steady, rhythmic sound of waves breaking and washing faithfully against the shore. I feel connected to the sea in a way beyond the grasp of words or explanation. This is probably why I fear separation from it.
I often feel like if I were ever truly separated or barred from the salty swell of the waves that I would wither away, as if cut off from the very source of my life.
Such feelings I know are passe, unenlightened, not modern.
But knowing that doesn’t change the feeling.
And I wonder sometimes if we maybe all truly do have these natural connections and are all just trying to pretend we’re more evolved than we are.
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