The sea is beautiful, whether calm or lightly stirred by waves, because whenever you're in it, you feel that it is enough. Whether for a quick dip or for hours spent there, in the middle of a day of coming and going, drained by the sun yet certain that it will be there to cool and refresh you.
The sea, on the beaches, is both communist and anarchist. It gives to everyone and takes nothing from anyone. It invites you in, but you enter only when you choose.
The sea is also a place where you can be alone, or among anonymous multitudes whose voices merge into a collective hum that recedes the further you drift away. Yet it can also be the place where bodies and souls meet, blend, and melt into one another.
The sea has a smell, a sound, and a touch that reaches you everywhere, body and soul. Material and spiritual at once.
The sea belongs to everyone—at least until they sell that too.
And though it moves to its own rhythm, in that eternal dance with the wind, within it you find silence. Because there, it is easy to stop wanting more.
Whether you are in it for a moment or for a long while, it is always enough.
At least while you are beside it or within it. Even when you're far from it, you know it's still there—ready to welcome you inside it, always.
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