Living forever is the dream of ego, probing the shoreline for an existence that can never satisfy.

“Join the sandcrabs and curlews at X’Tzu’s Zoo.”

“Sand dwellers who brought umbrellas along used to see the angles of our creation for what they were. 

At every moment of our surfside sojourn the skies were expansive and blue, rolling just outside the noisy seas, and knowing the difference was our glory.”

Yeah, here on the shoreline the script never changes, only the players do.

And there’s nothing right or wrong with a breaking wave, but at least we can admit, even if its for a second or two, that we’re sitting in an oceanic theater of our own making, put together by all the versions of the greater, Absolute-self.

“But now the light has become too bright, and our sunglasses are somewhere buried in the sand. Long days in the glare make it easy to mistake the number of pelicans for the pelicans themselves.”

“The ancient sandcrabs have always known this, and lived their days in peace.”

All along the coast, is it not my choice to have made my nest here?

“When death came from a hungry seabird or smashing wave, it was just another step. When ‘life’ occurred, they were unattached to the shore, but respectful of its essence.”

Within the sudsy reflective bubbles, how many more joyful expressions will be written across the faces of children for eternity?

“The old sandcrabs did their best to pass this information along the shoreline. They taught their squirming offspring to blow bubbles during retreating waves. Each one reflects our true face if we get close enough to perceive… a window for those who are bound to the beach that comes and goes.”

“The two legged ones run from the waves, so as to not let their feet get wet, while the sandcrabs snicker as they watch the children attempt to live forever.”

“The curlews, sandpipers, and the featherless ones have an understanding of ‘living’ that is covered with seaweed.”

“The seagulls and herons strive for extension of youthful plumage, never understanding that they’re reinforcing the attention that generates old weathered quills in the first place. They make up stories that speak of the fall of ‘Great Stork’, as if the experience ‘was’ at one time ‘eternal’. Their ignore-ance is magnified by their understanding of ‘eternity’, which is a sun bleached belief that only occurs during the time between breaking waves and the space of sand they sit upon… never the present here and now.”

“Their beaks probe the rocky shoreline for an existence that can never satisfy.”

“Their wings ruffle as they refuse the recognition found between thoughts in every sandcrab bubble.”

“When the ‘Great Stork’ realizes that the ‘fall’ is a process he’s unwittingly attempting to complete, so as to ‘live forever’ (whether perceived in ‘physical’ or ‘energy’ form), he flies away from the inability to be in the present and free to be ones true self.”

We can return to the ‘sea’, become whole and wash onto unlimited shores. As we break and bubble, our currents once again chase the feet of birds that dance at the edge of our rushing waters.

“The bubbles will always be, waiting.”