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Life is too short for boring stories

You have your head on my leg. Because that’s how it happened. I sat and you came to me, still a little dreamy, spun into the happenings that life gave us. Pensive, my hand strokes your hair. You keep your eyes closed while I look at you, just look and my hand does the rest. We are back on the beach. You cannot swim forever. Humans are not made for the water. They can stay in it for a while, but eventually they have to come out again. Even if it is the water of bliss. You cannot stand it, not forever. Slowly, my skin is drying while it is still working and my hand is brushing the moisture off your hair. We swam together.

My hand is resting while you still keep your eyes closed. A while, a little one, then we’ll get up and go. You to the place you have to go and me to mine. It is so. But you will not forget the sea once you feel it. It carries you back. Together or alone. It is not easy to swim alone. That’s what we were taught.
„Watch out while swimming“, I was told, „You cannot do it alone. The sea is too big. Alone you go under. „
At the same time, I’d rather not go down than in a sea of bliss. But we swam it together. It was not always like this.

Only when we met, it was as if the whole country was desolate. But when you took me by the hand, then it started to rain. First. It’s always a small start. You do not just jump into the water when you do not know if you can actually swim together. It was just a puddle. Carefully we put our feet in it. How easily you confuse it. Water always looks the same. Mistrust and resentment have the same consistency as happiness, even joy. You never know it in the first place. But it had been joy. And a piece of approach. It was warm and inviting. We had experienced it. And the paints became a pond. It was not deep. We could wade through. Nothing had changed. So, we ventured further into a lake where we ventured our first swim attempts. And see, it worked. From time to time we dipped our heads under the water. The fish swam around our feet, the seagrass tickled them. There was a lot to laugh about. Just like that, without any special occasion. The lake was followed by the sea. We dared to do it and did well to swim through it from one shore to the other, the sea that seems to reach into infinity. Our strength was enough. It is not easy to swim that long, not to be dazed by this excess of luck. Bliss. Connectedness. Eternity of connectedness. It is unbearable. The power gave us the love, gives us the love, you suspected. But I remained skeptical. Love can do a lot, but not alone.

Only when connected to the life that nourishes it can it give the power to swim through the sea, from one shore to another. If we do not respect the living, in all its facets and forms, not respect and admire and let, then also the love can do nothing. As a part of life that we are, just a part of the All-encompassing and all-connected, may be love. We have learned it. A frog jumped out of the puddle where we ventured our first attempts. We stopped. Not to drive him away. It is his place as well as ours. We can arrange ourselves without having to repress if we want to reach life and the sea. We wanted and we want. Submerge again, swim, let off and on, to come back to the shore at some point. The sun is drying our skin, while your head is resting on my leg and my hand is resting on it, before we get on our way again, to go somewhere and from somewhere, to try again in swimming, in the sea of bliss, that has always been, that we always make ourselves accessible again and give ourselves.

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