Finding Peace and Purpose Beside The Woman of the Sea
Reflections on love, understanding, acceptance, and mortality
Our tears taste like the ocean. When we die, the water of our bodies makes its way back to the sea. The tide is a mixing of remains. The movement of the waves contains the memory of every ancient creature that swam, crawled, walked, ran, flew, or loved.
When you swim in the ocean, you’re swimming with your grandparents and the dog from your childhood. You’re swimming with Alexander the Great and Jesus and a flock of pterodactyls. The water is heavy, and it mixes into the air so you end up inhaling the history of the world with every breath.
My wife refers to the Pacific as “hers.” She speaks Spanish. She refers to it as “sea” and I know better than to challenge her. The word she uses is “mar.”
Mi mar.
Her father was in the Navy. They lived in a small house in Callao. At the edge of Callao, there is a place called “La Punta.” It’s where the land stretches out into the Pacific Ocean, and no matter where you look, there is nothing but endless water as far as you can see.
