Who knows the sea best, they all wondered.
Is it the tugboat, ready to pull beyond her weight, courageous, always helpful, volunteering herself for the safety of others, faithful emissary of the land and the safe harbor of home?
Is it the lighthouse, warning of danger from jagged ridges of stone for all who float and ply the waves of the great sea? Like a messenger on horseback warning communities of danger, he yearns to sing of the vast sea of being on whose edge he stands.
Is it the ship at sea being pummeled by a storm, guided by glimmers of light from the lighthouse through sleet and howling gales, tossed back and forth by mountains of water cresting and falling all around? In the midst of peril, uncertain of safe return, does this ship, perhaps a fishing boat or a tugboat searching for family, know the deepest soul of the sea?
Or is it the dolphin, safe beneath the raging surface, who wishes she could help—even though she has lost her family to a sonic invasion that robbed all but her of the ability to navigate with their great brains, causing them to run onto beaches and expire on the sand?
And the sea responded.
It is all of you, and more besides, who know me best. It is Moon, who guides turtles back to their place of birth. It is Sun, who lifts up clouds out of my belly. It is Wind, who carries me across the desert to far-off mountains, where Earth gathers me into rivulets, streams and torrents–taking only what is needed for each tree and field of corn, as I make my way back home.
It is also women and men, especially those who stand on shore wondering what has happened to make them feel abandoned on the shoals of loneliness; it is above all those from whose eyes flow the pure waters running from the heart.