Standing upon one’s mind’s mound of memory,
Among the dunes of humanity’s knowledge
Within the vast desert of the cosmos,
It becomes clear, the more of it we accumulate,
That time is an illusion.
And what then is left of its sands
Swept from either end and over,
With occasional oases of life
Being brushed out of nonexistence
To consciously appreciate it
Before degenerating back
Into the folds of itself,
Or blossoming forth to learn slowly of oblivion
Before tasting the finality of quenched thirst.
Grains of sand rise and fall to thought’s harvest
As time reigns its fertile truth upon it,
Only to drown it all once again in drought.
What are we then but gusts of wind
Lashing about to move a grain or two of sand
On humanity’s face
Before time’s tempests rage through
To quell our follies
And level it.
The below images were taken in Weligama, Sri Lanka and edited to bring out some of the detail that I see when I stand on the beach. Most people who see me gawking at the beauty of sand as the water draws away from it think I'm crazy, either it's because they don't see it or they don't get excited by it. This is for them.