the coast of human endeavor

inside each of us there is a coast, running freely through us like a river. on one side is the sea, vast, mad, uncontrollable. and on the other side is the land, where men toil and till, raise crops, families, lives. between them is the long line of beach-head where all things come in together, from the rain, the storm, the loss and tragedy of time and hope. on the coast there is no madness, no need for control, no effort to feel and move, live, survive. there is only the crashing of the waves against the sand. the coming together of a thing working and a thing we work at. the blending of motions and stillness, of effort and effortless. and that sound, that place, is the one subtle beggining and end of everything. it is the place where all things come from and return to, where all the sadnesses and joys were born and will one day, like anything else, die, leaving room for the new comers, the new happenings, births. on the coast, there is no need for fear. there is only what is, what has been, what will be. and how does one go about being afraid of what comes automatically? why would anyone fear the growing of shrubs or the extending of tree branches, the falling of rain? it is only what is. fear belongs to the land and sea, not to the coast. to the coast belongs only us, this, here.

2004-07-19 | 12:27 p.m.
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