To sit above the hills overlooking the majestic harmonist of a sea; you are the head and feet of imagination, free; and like the breeze on your skin, you linger. There is a self healing, prayer filled, somber sound coming from such a sea. 

The melody of it is just as loud in your mind as it is seen by your eyes. You can feel the roars of the waves rushing into your blood veins as if to say, they too bring life besides the blood of oxygen filled sacs in there. 

Your shoulder blades all of a sudden gain courage, and you sit up straight to breathe like your last breath is a peaceful transition between you and your maker. 

I am one such blessed human being overlooking that sea, and while I write this I wonder, “ Is that God in there?”

The white Sunday this year, in the village, is done with practices for dance, song and moral inspired plays going past midnight for some children. 

The excitement is propelling and a touch of dizziness, because the children are smiling with so much innocence. 

I want to heal them of such a bubbled delusion at times but I know they too will grow to find life at a parallel line with their beliefs just I have found the sea of my younger days has changed. 

The children will outgrow the perfectionism and realize that practice makes permanent as one child taught me yesterday. When I asked the child what happened to the old saying, “ Practice makes perfect”, she looked at me with dismay as if to check my common knowledge. She said confidently and admirably, 

“ Nobody is perfect.” 

But I could not agree more though I was partially affected by the loss of innocence in the child, and here I am, still somewhat of an idealist. Perfectionism is my curse and my blessing as a lover of poetry and beautiful things in this life. It is my hope that things including people are better than words, and it is my dilemma that many people’s words are not followed in the things they do. 

So I look at the sea I grew up next to as if it is now a grown person with a journeyed life. I know as much as I have experienced, that despite the sounds that lull’s one’s grown mind, the sea seems angrier these days. 

Aside from the natural disasters that leave a permeating agony in our hearts as we follow the sea and it us, I am as many of you an ordinary citizen, looking at life with a squiggly and oftentimes foggy lens. 

If you happen to be driving or riding in a bus, a motorcycle or braving the foot-mobile daily, along the blue coast, you will note in the mornings, the crashing waves onto the weakened wall of rocks, put there for protection. In the same token, you cannot but help notice the falling stones from the wall of hills opposite the sea as if by response to the sea’s anger the land is shaky.

In some areas along the blue coast, the rocks have made a quaff of a land slide because the trees themselves are either weak or absent altogether. But the breeze and white clouds are no longer the only things between the landscape spheres, holding our gaze and separating the sea from the sky. Humans seem to be the main litter of the island, next to plastic bags and bottles of beer.

There is a little village with mesmerizing gardens that leaves a passer-by feeling somewhat married to the pruned landscape if not glorified by it. Apparently their village council fines the families if they are not caretakers of our most treasured healer, the environment.

That to say that the sense of well being is very alive in the villages, though it is somewhat drunkenly kept in a few I know. But the essence of this spectacular view and the things of nature that are breaking apart around us, I am sure you recognize as a citizen of paradise, that when we are aware of our reality, then we are one with the sea’s fury most times.