Nature requires no description, no speech whatsoever; an exquisite seascape does not need to borrow my voice, it has its own; though, it is necessary for me volunteer my language anyway, to edit my ego into the iconography of beauty.
Tonight, I stole out onto the deck for a quick smoke before bed, but found myself, instead, unmoving, arrested by a night scene. All day, the wind had been threatening storm, had been ripping at the ocean. All day, I sat in the house, unthinking, intentionally unaware that a miracle of grace roared outside the window.
If the universe had a breath, I thought, the ebb and wave on the shore would be it; its pulse and vital sign the noisy collapsing of white caps.
On the horizon, the dark sea and dark sky were cleft only by the visible light of two ships trawling. There, where the two planes converged, I sensed something like the focal point of infinity, and with it, an irresistible gravity drawing out my soul. Something about the darkness, the ambiguity of forms, accomplishes this; when there is little light to distinguish shapes, it is easy to imagine the rest of the power and glory forever and ever, amen.
I stood for an hour, dizzy, head spun, at the immensity of the horizon; the immensity of whatever forever truly is.
The sea knows much more of God than I will ever hope to. Hallelujah.