The purple waves lapping back and forth rush over my feet as I stand on the shore. A threshold where beginnings and endings trade places. A familiar place of unknowing.  

I am a traveler of liminal spaces.  

Sinking deeper into the sand; the threatening waves grow large. Clouds above transform the sky and colors fade. Stormy thunder shakes. Sickly seaweed entangles my legs like snakes beckoning me out to sea. But I do not go. Trudging through sand as thick as mud. Sucking me back to the earth’s core with each pulling step. Whirling winds whipping round blurring elements. Moving in place without progression.  

Away from the shore a vast surface of shimmering salt flats, surrounded by dozens of fallen birds encrusted in the salted earth. Laying my head next to theirs in an act of self-preservation. Salt biting my skin and face. Tears wet my cheeks. Or is it rain. The pulse is the same. I cannot stay here. I do not share the fate of the birds- the lightness of their feathers waving in the wind. The beauty of existence does not end. Scanning the horizon- endless desert of land and sky (and dead birds). Eyes closed, tasting salty tears, I move. Arms stretched, diving deep into uncharted waters. Swimming without breath- or direction. A humming vibration. A dangerous depth, recurring death. She rages and roars, and I go deeper. Darkness my ally. Residing on the bottom, beneath. Encircling luminescent creatures invading nightmares. There is no distinction between sleep and waking. The sun does not rise, and the moon has lost her way.  

A cave of sorrow and loneliness. Inside, my body becomes a landscape of openness. An inner geography unexplored.  An unknown passage (commonly ignored), a place of inner stillness. My eyes are opened. Wakefulness. Dividing the landscape. Even the landscape of dreams.