The moment you see something with your own eyes and feel injustice with all your senses, you cross an inner border, you know you can’t go back from there.
You are polluting the ocean by dumping your party balloons and plastic junk anywhere, and you’re poisoning yourself and your children and their children.
I’ve heard some say in jest that our ocean floors are less explored than outer space simply because nobody can go down that deep and live to tell about it.
Here in the dark, when I just am, it doesn’t matter. It isn’t matter. I’m fluid, no longer frozen light but endless waves lapping at the ocean of being.
This is the beauty of being human: to feel heard, to be seen, to love, and be loved. For the ocean of your inner universe to join with the ocean of another.