Where the Waves Carry Our History

Image this.

 

You are standing barefoot at the side of the ocean. The air is large with salt, the air decorated in bruised purples and firelight from the desperate sun. The waves race forward, styling and breaking at the feet, before sliding silently back in the depths.

 

But this isn't just water pressing you.

 

Since every tide… provides memory.

 

The exact same tide that brushes against your legs today after taken around worlds you might never know. It buried forgotten towns, cooled lava because it spilled from newborn volcanoes, and drowned woods that endured before individuals ever dreamed of strolling upright. It moved the ashes of fires that burned out one thousand decades ago. It has presented the bones of sailors who faded into the night time, their comments swallowed by breeze and water.

 

And today it touches you.

 

The wave requires bits of the world with it each time it retreats — cereals of mud from mountains that fell long ago, covers that once sheltered lives smaller than the usual fingernail, parts of stone and glass used smooth from generations of tumbling. Where do they're going? To the areas we cannot see. In to trenches deeper than Everest is tall, in to black canyons where mild never handled, into currents that group the planet like arteries.

 

The wave hides every thing it gathers, burying the world's memories in a silence too substantial for all of us to break.

 

We inform ourselves we realize it. We information its patterns, build walls and harbors to battle it, name the hours when it'll rise and fall. However the hold does not worry about our measurements. It hasn't belonged to us. It listens simply to the moon.

 

That pale cat in the atmosphere, distant and untouchable, draws at the oceans every moment of each day. The water Planet toward it, climbing to generally meet their hidden hand. And once the moon turns out, the water comes back. This quiet tug-of-war has formed the world for billions of years. Even the deepest seas are connected to anything beyond themselves.

 

The wave is changing.

 

It's creeping farther inland now. Glaciers are melting in to its depths, heating waters are swelling their body, and shorelines are vanishing item by piece. Islands we when thought endless are actually gone, paid down to only titles on old maps.

 

And listed here is the truth a lot of people don't want to handle: the wave will not end for us.

 

We contact it disaster. The hold calls it nothing at all. It really continues, since it generally has, taking and giving, sculpting and erasing. It's erased whole continents before. It can do so again.

 

Could you imagine the near future?

 

The sea sheets on the cities we built. Highways disappear under the dunes, their asphalt damaged and damaged like previous bone. Systems fail to the search, turning into reefs wherever fish drift through silent glass halls. Monuments crumble, destroyed and dispersed until they are indistinguishable from the rocks of the seabed. Entire civilizations are paid down to pieces, overly enthusiastic by currents so solid we will never swim against them.

 

And when it occurs, the wave will not roar. It will not rage. It won't mourn.

 

It only will remember.

 

Because that is what the hold does. It is the planet's memory. Every life, every hurricane, every loss is folded in to their depths and moved forward. The wave has viewed entire worlds increase and fall. It knows things number individual language can ever hold.

 

However the hold is not just a thief. It is a sculptor.

 

It provides life to the shore. It holds vitamins to estuaries and marshlands wherever new creatures are born. It patterns the sides of the planet earth, removing sharp rocks in to smooth rocks, remaking shores with every breath. Minus the hold, the planet's pulse could falter. Oceans could stagnate. Coastlines might wither.

 

Maybe that's why we are attracted to it.

 

We go to the water's edge without always knowing why. Kids pursuit the retreating waves, joking, then shriek when it rushes straight back toward them. Adults stay at the shoreline all day, hypnotized by the rhythm, letting the noise of the lives slip away. There is anything timeless in the tide's air — a thing that calls to the part folks that recalls wherever we came from.

 

Because we came from the water once.

 

The tide moved living onto the land. It cradled the very first delicate creatures that dared to examine from the shallows. And perhaps this is exactly why we feel therefore small position before it now — maybe not because it will take from us, but because in certain heavy, unspoken way, we all know it gave us everything first.

 

Stand there good enough, and you'll begin to notice the details. The quiet pull at your legs since it draws away. The hiss of pockets collapsing in the foam. The weak, very nearly human sigh because it exhales onto the sand.

 

If you listen tightly, you might hear the hold letting you know a reality:

 

“Nothing you understand is permanent.

But nothing is really lost, either.”

 

One day, the wave will roll around the world as if we were never here. The titles of our cities, the edges we struggled wars to guard, the monuments we developed to outlast time — everything is going to be taken out, softened, and carried into the deep.

 

And yet… there's a strange ease in that.

 

Since the tide tells people that we are element of anything bigger than ourselves. A thing that does not need us, but holds all of us the same. Every thing we do, every thing we construct, every air we take becomes element of their memory. The hold keeps it, also when we are gone.

 

You will never know all that it carries. Nothing folks will.

 

But next time you are at the seaside, stop. Feel the take at your feet. View the waves bring lines in the mud, then eliminate them without hesitation. Understand that the exact same hold moved lives you may never match and may touch lives extended after yours.

 

It does not matter if you forget.

The hold won't.

 

The tides won't reveal their secrets.

But if you are calm enough, you may sense them in your bones.