The ocean reminds me of God. It is such a vast thing. I can look as far as I can see and stare as long and as hard as I can, and yet even then I have only seen the minutest skimming of the depths and widths of water that make the ocean. It is unfathomable. Our attempts at comprehension are as a lone bee’s attempts to gather all the pollen in a thriving garden. Even a careful study of all its passions and glories leaves us still trembling before a power that could effortlessly end our world. To put the ocean on a map is like trying to make God stay inside a box. It simply does not fit. The light swirling blueness on paper, precisely outlined and carefully labeled, is nothing like the real ocean of raging fury and weighty enormousness. Its gentlest whisper is to us ferocious strength. The touch of its hand is as the shadow of Jupiter to our moon. Its playfulness is our death. We cannot begin to drain it, tame it, better it, or understand it. Staring, our delight turns to silence and then to awe and then to terror. To advance is to be crushed. To depart is to be lost. Thus is the ocean. Thus is God.
