The ocean mirrors the tempo of my body, the beating of my heart, the in and out of my breath. Waves like a metronome mark the present, each insisting: Now. In the ocean I am immersed in now. Yet in the ancient body of the sea I feel the root of time. In the pulsing surge I feel the wild place of my wilderness beginnings. There is not totem to the irrational more potent. Nothing points to the stirrings of my unconscious more than what lies below the surface. No peril feels more ominous. Yet the sea is where I bathe my wounds, where I get lost in all that is luxuriously infinite. Nothing is more symphonic, more effervescent, more delicately complete than the endless sea.