A wonderful poet in her sheer genius strung these words together:
And there standing against the crashing waves, sits the massive body of a shipwreck, as if the whole of history has been gifted to us. We are giddy with adventure, skipping through the rocks and shouting to the wild horses and the oceans' roars. The jagged porthole opens to us and we pull ourselves into the boat's hungry mouth.
It is empty and whole.
Full speed ahead, we climb until we are scraped and muddy--rust children with lighthouse eyes.
Only the very blessed amongst us have the gift of seeing the wreckage with the innocence of these lighthouse eyes.
The bulk of us have to hustle--and hustle hard--through muscular and decisive acts to maintain innocence. Sadly more often than not, it does not feel as if it is worth the hustle: the beached wreck of a ship is to remain there as it is and has always been, alone and abandoned.
