Solo Wishful Wanderer

[Sentalia]

TIMESTAMP: 4 Summer 524 AV (asleep on the beach)

I wander, I walk, I worry my way along the waveside shore by the water... the land is dark, there are no stars. The moon is as good as absent, he does not shine his light on me. He hides, he conceals himself behind clouds and converses with constellations. I am lonely, I am alone, it is as though I am the only living being present here. The land is silent save for the gentle lapping of water against the shore. From what mouth does silence speak? From what graves do the undead rise? I, Sentalia, was born in darksome tides, and be it as it may that I have come down from somewhere else, I feel the longing in my being that every ounce of me should melt... It is not that I want to stop existing, I do not wish to die, only to live as grand and long as the wide, unvaulted sky... I was greater than this body once... I was a droplet in an ocean, rather than a paltry thing clinging to the sands of the realms of the in-between. Take, me, waters, take me deep down to where the moon hides beneath your ripples and splashes... down, down, where true silence dwells and waits to sing its glorious song to the mute and deaf. Let me be there with you.... I wander, I walk, I seek respite from the long march of ignorance to the resting place of final truth. From whence? And to where? And, most importantly, how to be there in an instant, rather than an Aeon? Are there songs beneath the waters that the land-dwellers cannot divine? Are there treasures forged of moonlight that are waiting to be mine? I am Sentalia, the one who wanders, the one who seeks, though I may not move a muscle, I travel distances that take ordinary men lifetimes of struggle to reach. In the motion of my feeling, I intuit greater things, though they may be as small as a sprouted sapling's rings... the trees, do they have cousins that live on the ocean floor? I, whose name is Sentalia, always yearn for more. I find myself magnetic, I find my mind a bore, I wish to magnetize all lies and make of them something to be adored. Shall I go to the right, into the rainforest night, not knowing if the darkness seeks to give me boon or blight? Do I dive deep underwater, until I breathe no longer, to find a hidden bank-vault for my solitary sonder? Or do I continue walking, with anticipatory stride, walking ever onwards to a domain that lies inside? I am Sentalia who knows not who I am, but how I feel... I am Sentalia, who knows not what is real, but who enjoys the sweet taste of that which is true. Neither eternal orchards nor infinite depths of sea could satiate me, so I walk, I walk, ever hungry, yet somehow always content in the lap of the unknown. How many words in all tongues would I need to verily say how I do feel, and not! I do what I should and neglect what I ought. I am Sentalia, with many feelings fraught.

[Sentalia]

I sit, I ponder, I am motionless upon the cusp of tides and sands. I listen to the silence from distant lands... I wait with anticipation vibrating in my hands. I am Sentalia who is not all as she seems... I am Sentalia who is in the world of dreams. An unanchored presence passing by, an aching longing for life in the sky... I hope to truly live before I die, and die again into the realms of the dead; from the half-alive to the fully extinguished is my destination, with clarity and wonderment my noblest aspiration. How many sentiments can one entity imbibe before simple, sweet calm starts to feel like a steal? The dark ocean's expanse is as far as my eyes can see... the ripples on its surface are like the undulations of mine and me. I imagine there to be a place beneath the sea, where those that live and breathe are suspended in serenity... or do the currents down below act more violently upon the lonesome and alone? No forms, no words come out of the imagination, only ever stronger longings for ever novel, fresh sensations. Synchronistic to these thoughts come curdling clicks and cries; I see a being unfamiliar in whom anxiety abides. From blue to green to back again, in the dark it glistens. As I shift to standing, its noises cease, and now it listens... I come closer to the creature who is not from the air, but from the deeps... It seems to be distressed. I am both concerned and impressed... I am Sentalia in an alien world full of strangers, the otherness of it all being the most familiar thing to me, for I am now other than myself, I am a ball of feelings without one to feel them, yet here is another being who feels upset, but content as I approach it to see my body water-wet. I am Sentalia who looks into things.... who is this being here?

"Where do you come from," it says, and I am surprised to understand. "I come to you from here but I am not one of this land," says I, without a second of consideration passing between hearing it speak and providing it with a reply.
"you speak the common tongue, but words from a different source swell up inside you," the poor, beached thing says, and my eyes grow wide with excited apprehension. "help me out to the waves and I will tell you what you long to hear".

It is smooth, it is slippery, I bend down and clasp my hands to its arms and it holds onto me with gentle firmness. I wade out half-folded, to where the water meets my calves, my knees, my waist... I am now in a dancer's embrace with this thing from down below. Though it could now swim away, it does not let me go... "just a little bit further out, just a little bit more," it says sweetly, until my feet no longer feel the water's floor. It grasps me tightly and drags me down, down, against my will but I do not resist... I hold my breath though my lungs insist... the songs of the deep unknown fill every pore of my being until I can hold my breath no longer, and breathe in the brine, which forces me from the realm of dreams to the realm where things appear as they seem. I am Sentalia, not sure of myself in wakefulness or sleep, I am Sentalia, with an ocean of tears to weep.

[Sentalia]

I sit and watch the moon rise and fall in the night sky. I don't know where I am or how I got there. I might as well be on an island of eternal watchfulness under the moon which seems to be living. It is as though the moon wants to be included in my locus of experience. It is like the moon is part of me, or that I am a part of it. I feel its alive and ancient presence, full of secrets, full of countless quiet tales untold. The moon is weary from being ignored by those who can look, and think. I wish I could disappear with the fullness of the moon to whatever celestial abode of nighttime light it resides in. The plants around me are like sad, lonesome poems to praise the moon's grace and gentle splendour, yet like prayers half-attended to, they fall short of describing its easy, simple majesty that is almost magical to behold. How many people have thought as I do, staring, wondering, thinking about the moon? How many before me? How many will come after? If all who could look and think would do so as I try, there would be an ocean of suitors and spectators at the moon's magnificence, but I have the feeling that I am alone, that I am isolated, that I am the only person to exist in the whole world. It is not uncomfortable as I know the moon is here with me, I feel its light, I feel like the realms of moonlight are where I'm supposed to go, where I truly belong, but that I forget them at the beginning of the day... I feel happy to have the moon here, now, and sad that tomorrow will come to take it from me. The flowers which share their fragrance with the moonlight are my brothers and sisters, we are of one heart. I feel my inner beauty rise and swell like the tides when the moon smiles down on me. I feel the lightness and clarity of its familiarity with me, I feel that I am as I should be when I am awake at night, pining after the moon or basking in its rays. I can actually think at nighttime.... there are no silent sounds buffeting my thinking as during the day, when everything stirs and chatters in invisible talk. At night there is stillness, there is respect for the mind, there is deep introspection that is impossible in daytime. I want to make the night my haven, the full-moon the crescendo of my bliss, only to lose it in a few short hours, yet to always belong to that kingdom of sunless grace. I need to be able to think, to have a clear thought, to be able to hold it and treasure it without crushing it to death or letting it fly away. It is almost as though there is an active intelligence at nighttime guiding my thinking and helping me come back to the main path when my mind goes astray... I long for the realms where the moon does not wane.