Ahhh, if I've a beach in the vicinity of my place in Melbourne, I'd take a walk in the evenings every single effing day. If only. Surfers Paradise was breathtaking, the highlight of my trip to Goldcoast.
The Sun haloed everything on the beach. The blinding white light making me squint involuntarily, fighting to open my eyes wide and burn the image into my fragile memory. The distinct salty whiff of the winds from the sea undulating with the purifying waves. White foam over the white, white sand, wiping away footprints in the sand, in my mind. The seagulls screamed ceaselessly but it was all music to me. Spidery strands of bubbles in the dying waves forming patterns that guide your view towards the glittering horizon where sea and sky mold into one. The clouds, the foamy waves, I couldn't tell which was which. As if the gates of Jannah itself is opening before my very eyes.
It was lovely and sad. Because it's beautiful and vast, empty and lonely. I understand now why explorers back then sailed away, chasing horizons. I've decided. I won't let my ambitions be molded by circumstances. The beat authors & poets didn't have it easy. They lived by their art and believed in it. Their 'new vision', I want it. Of course, they were bohemians and wantonly burnt their lives away. I'm not that foolish, I know they were wayward. All I want is for my muse to dance to the tune that theirs danced to. Again, if only.
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