Where the Waves Carry Our History

Picture this.

You are position barefoot at the edge of the ocean. The air is heavy with salt, the air painted in bruised purples and firelight from the desperate sun. The waves race forward, curling and breaking at the feet, before falling quietly back into the depths.

But that is not just water pressing you.

Because every tide… holds memory.

The exact same wave that brushes against your legs today once taken around worlds you'll never know. It buried neglected towns, cooled lava as it poured from newborn volcanoes, and drowned woods that existed before individuals ever dreamed of walking upright. It moved the ashes of shoots that burned out a thousand decades ago. It has used the bones of sailors who faded into the night, their voices swallowed by wind and water.

And today it details you.

The tide requires bits of the planet with it each time it retreats — cereals of mud from hills that dropped long ago, covers that when sheltered lives smaller than a fingernail, parts of rock and glass worn smooth from generations of tumbling. Wherever do they go? To the areas we can not see. Into trenches greater than Everest is large, into dark canyons wherever mild never handled, into currents that circle the globe like arteries.

The tide covers everything it collects, burying the world's memories in a silence too great for all of us to break.

We tell ourselves we understand it. We graph their designs, build walls and harbors to battle it, name the hours when it will increase and fall. However the hold does not worry about our measurements. It hasn't belonged to us. It listens only to the moon.

That light ghost in the air, remote and untouchable, draws at the oceans every moment of each and every day. The water stretches toward it, climbing to meet their hidden hand. And once the moon turns out, the water falls back. That quiet tug-of-war has designed the world for billions of years. Actually the deepest seas are connected to anything beyond themselves.

Yet the wave is changing.

It is creeping further inland now. Glaciers are reduction in to their depths, heating waters are swelling their body, and shorelines are vanishing piece by piece. Islands we once thought endless already are removed, decreased to just titles on previous maps.

And here's the reality many people don't need to handle: the wave won't end for us.

We call it disaster. The hold calls it nothing at all. It just continues, as it always has, using and providing, building and erasing. It's removed entire continents before. It will do therefore again.

Could you imagine the near future?

The water moves within the cities we built. Roads vanish under the waves, their asphalt damaged and damaged like old bone. Systems fall to the search, turning into reefs where fish move through silent glass halls. Monuments fall, broken and spread until they're indistinguishable from the rocks of the seabed. Whole civilizations are reduced to pieces, overly enthusiastic by currents so strong we will never swimming against them.

And when it occurs, the tide will not roar. It will not rage. It will not mourn.

It will simply remember.

Since that is what the hold does. It's the planet's memory. Every life, every hurricane, every loss is folded in to their depths and carried forward. The hold has viewed whole sides rise and fall. It knows points number human language could ever hold.

However the wave is not only a thief. It is just a sculptor.

It delivers living to the shore. It carries nutritional elements to estuaries and marshlands wherever new creatures are born. It shapes the sides of the earth, smoothing sharp stones into delicate stones, remaking shores with every breath. Without the hold, the planet's pulse might falter. Oceans would stagnate. Coastlines could wither.

Maybe that's why we are attracted to it.

We go to the water's side without generally understanding why. Young ones pursuit the retreating dunes, laughing, then shriek when it rushes straight back toward them. People stay at the shoreline all night, hypnotized by the beat, letting the noise of the lives slip away. There's something timeless in the tide's breath — a thing that calls to the portion folks that remembers where we got from.

Because we originated from the water once.

The wave moved living onto the land. It cradled the initial delicate creatures that dared to examine from the shallows. And probably this is exactly why we sense therefore small ranking before it now — not because it will take from people, but since in a few deep, unspoken way, we realize it offered people every thing first.

Stand there good enough, and you'll start to spot the details. The calm whip at your ankles as it brings away. The hiss of bubbles crumbling in the foam. The weak, almost human sigh since it exhales onto the sand.

In the event that you listen closely, you could hear the hold telling you a truth:

“Nothing you realize is permanent.

But nothing is actually missing, either.”

One day, the tide will move over the world as if we were never here. The titles of our towns, the borders we struggled wars to guard, the monuments we created to overcome time — everything will be taken away, softened, and moved into the deep.

And yet… there is a strange comfort in that.

Since the hold tells us that people are element of something bigger than ourselves. Something that doesn't need us, but keeps all of us the same. Every thing we do, every thing we build, every breath we take becomes element of their memory. The wave maintains it, actually whenever we are gone.

You will never know all so it carries. None of us will.

But next time you are at the seaside, stop. Feel the draw at your feet. Watch the dunes bring lines in the mud, then erase them without hesitation. Understand that the same wave moved lives you'll never meet and can feel lives Planet following yours.

It doesn't subject in the event that you forget.

The tide won't.

The tides won't reveal their secrets.

But if you are calm enough, you might feel them in your bones.