A Risky Sort of Simplicity

We live on a raft, guided by nothing, the stars were merely there to spur discussion and imagination. In a world where we truly knew nothing, we understood that we did not live in the same world as the rest of our species, we understood the world the way a baby turtle rushes to the sea, it rushes without example and only a small chance of survival. Survival, we survive through the world by succumbing to our reptilian demands, and through the tumultuous and truthful moods of our ever changing Ocean. The Ocean, our ally, our enemy, our lifeline. We were effected only by rain, sunshine, and our minds, we tasted and luxuriated in the pleasures of the sea, we were tortured by storms, and ridiculed by our kind. Our kind, most of them romanticized us and were captivated by our stories and opinions, they occasionally come across us, full of curiosity and are always thirsty with questions that alluded with a voyeuristic sense to some sort of prurient fantasy. All of our kind ponder us and eventually through a nervous decisiveness conclude that we are crazy, irresponsible and lack the decency of normality that they all thankfully have…

There is no past, present, or future. We live on a raft, grounded by nothing, we belong only to the sea, the stars and our hearts.

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