4. The cerulean ocean The sweet-tasting cerulean ocean is calling. You send psychologists, relatives, priests, faith healers, and friends to chase me, walking towards the shimmering, rippling waters. They're pulling me back, saving me from my doom, or so they say. Their arms are tattooed with empty sayings like, "Your unresolved anger towards your father continues your conflict", "Just don't think about it", "Think Positively", "Pray and Have Faith in God", and "Things aren't that bad"... You don't understand. When you dive several hundred meters below the surface, you feel the waters still, floating your heavy arms and legs; your hair spreads out like seaweed, and there is silence -- serenity, the peace of the oceanic womb. The psychologists say I'm "emotionally disturbed" for wanting this. Compare the cerulean ocean depths, to your "sane" city pavement covering every living square inch of the earth; homeless urchins standing at street corners with needle tracks on their arms; a young woman murdered between two apartments with tenants leaning out to watch... These are too general. The cerulean ocean calls me from my ex-lover's manic-depressive door smashed on my razor-bled wrists, from his offers of fellowship because his conscience needs to have salvation from me like an imaginary saint, from smashing into his windowpane like a pigeon caught on the inside of his house, from the ebbing of will like a moon-pulled tide far too low and humanly unstoppable that washes me out to the refrigerator, from the Satanic mirror gauging my success like a vampire who bites only those full of blood; from the ocean sparkling in subtle destruction, calling me. Let the white-foam waves soothe my bare feet. Don't worry - I won't enter the deeper waters. I feel the connections: the kitchen dishes to be washed, the little boy at the library asking for change to call his parents, the black-eyed susans wanting their watering, a friend agonizing over a luckless pursuit of a woman, those I have yet to touch, things I have yet to learn and do... The cerulean ocean will wait, calling. We will all be swept into its deep serenity, eventually. The time will come.