You say today is set
for your departure,
that you expect to grow old
by the sea.
Chia Tao
With a ‘civilisation’ rapidly imploding in a frenzy of narcissism, rage and gargantuan stupidity, each new grotesquery pedalled relentlessly on a ubiquitous glowing rectangle, the seeker of sanity can do worse than head to the beach. Here the festival of folly can, at least temporarily, recede in the presence of the eternal ocean: a force that knows nothing of the ‘news cycle’, creates no ‘content’ and wastes no time ‘optimising’ itself. The beach accepts all comers: there are no spiritual qualifications required to experience freedom here. Granted there are occasionally a few hotheads, often to be found frantically revving j*tsk*s in the vain hope that someone will finally admire them. Irritating yes, but they are ultimately no more consequential than the bemused and disappointed wasps that alight periodically on the watermelon picnic blanket. Most people find themselves effortlessly returned to a relaxed and playful openness, the adult barely distinguishable from the child in their delighted wave-jumping. Culture wars, religious and political divisions are perceived to be significantly less interesting than the drift patterns in the sand. Precious identities held fast as if to “sworn oaths” may here and there survive in tact on the promenade, but in the waves have approximately the shelf life of a midday ice cream. Of course the Great Cacophony awaits and must apparently be reengaged eventually: the beach offers permanent ‘solutions’ only to a very fortunate few. But that’s fine – it doesn’t have to. The beach ain’t going anywhere.