Driftwood

Sometimes the sea is my friend. Sometimes, my foe. A lot of times I think it’s taking me exactly where I wish to go and I start to believe that I am the captain of the ship; that the wheel is under my command. But this, I know, and this is clear: I am helpless to the whim of the waves. I cannot control the winds. I can only put up my sails and use the wind to steer my tiny ship toward the little island that is my Hope.

Who would believe that I was once a powerful tree? My trunk was as sturdy as any wall. My arms reaching far to the heavens beyond the reach of human hands. My leaves as green as any meadow, as red as any sunset sky, as golden as any many human lifetimes. A changing palette of God’s favorite hues.

But now I am dull and brown and black and dressed in moss and hardening anemones. Tossed around by the playful waters. Drowned deep into the ocean’s heart, to resurface again, desperately, gasping for air. Only to be pulled down again and again, until I have given up my strength and have changed my very substance in order to transform into something else. Adrift in the ups and downs and whorls and spurns. This endless eternal movement, quintessential to the turning of the spheres.

But am I the one moving? Or is the universe in constant motion and I am simply a spot in their sky, ever stagnant, ever fixed?

Yesterday (or was it the day before that? I have lost count of the days like a traveler who has lost track of the roads but pretending to be exactly where he intended to be) I spotted a fellow drifter. It was bigger and broader than me, swaying comfortably while the waves were calm and quiet. It claimed dominance over the waters. It bragged of how much better and more suitable it was for the life I was trying to lead. So many fragments of broken shells were attached to its bark. Testaments of a life I have yet to experience. But when a giant wave suddenly rose from beneath us, as if the ocean suddenly decided to take one deep,deep breath, the pull was beyond both of us. It didn’t matter which was greater or broader, or more experienced. We were both helpless to the laws that governed the universe.

So I let the waters part us and for days I was simply adrift again. I watch the sun move from east to west. And then the moon. And then the stars. And then the sun again. Philosophers would say that we are all made up of the same stuff as those magical lights above our horizon. Ever Fixed. Ever there.

Sometimes I would sleep for hours. Even when I was conscious of my surroundings, I believe I was not living. Like I slept for days with my eyes wide open.

When will this drifting end?

Then one day, I felt myself being scooped up in something soft and cobbly at the same time: a child’s hand. A child’s working hands. I was suddenly pulled outside of the world I knew and was dropped into a ragged pocket, a completely different universe from my point of view. I was left there for hours. Darkness and movement different from the sway of the waters enveloped me like a cage.

I was afraid.

I was angry at the ocean for allowing this to happen. For giving me up so easily. For letting me go without a fight. For slipping so stealthily between those fingers and leaving me behind. It felt like a betrayal. It felt like an incredible injustice. I was a speck of imperfection in it’s otherwise clear waters. I needed to be removed.

But no tears. I left all the water behind. If I changed for the ocean, I can change again for this new world I am finding myself in.

But, Oh how it hurt! Again and again, I felt parts of me being chipped away. Parcel by parcel, I felt myself being torn apart. If I had lips I would have screamed. I have no power over this force so much greater than mine.

Pain.

Ever fixed.

Ever there.

Pain so constant it has become my lullaby.

Sleep so priceless was its gift after all.

But then I was awakened by a musical sound. It was like the sound of happy sea gulls, but not quite. Or the splash of water from a dolphin’s play, but not quite. Or the rustle of fish fins in a busy school when they swim you by, but not quite.

It was laughter. The sound of happiness. And it was very close.

It was then I realized that the pain was gone. I felt different but the same. I was, in fact, being passed from one pair of childish hands to another. A child’s toy, I have become, I suppose. Made to look like my maker.

No longer adrift.

Sometimes the child is my friend. Sometimes, my foe. A lot of times I think I make her happy and I start to believe that I am the reason for her happiness; that her smile is mine to behold. That the love she seems to show me is timeless. But this, I know, and this is clear: I am helpless to the whim of the universe. I cannot control her growing up. I can only put up my own inner defenses and use the time to steer my tiny existence toward the little island of hope that is my own happiness.

I have met other toys claiming prowess over my crude makings. But when one day, the universe decides to take a deep,deep breath, in the end, we are all governed by the same laws, the same forces that are beyond our comprehension. The same stars will be there to light up our common heaven. By that time, I may be swept away again to give up the life I have and the being that I am, to transform into something else and yet still be the same.

This constant eternal changing, quintessential to the turning of the spheres…

But am I the one moving? Or is the universe in constant motion, and I am simply a spot in their sky?

Ever stagnant.

Ever fixed.