"A profound unmitigated loneliness is the only truth of life"
- R.K. Narayan

It is said the wind and the ocean were friends since the beginning of time. In fact, it is believed that it was their movement that started the lifeblood of time itself.

The wind loved gliding over the ocean, tickling its back and making the ocean ripple in laughter, over the sands. The ocean in turn breathed its blessing into the wind, driving it moist with emotions.

All day the ocean gurgled jokes to the wind and the wind howled back in laughter.

The wind would love hovering over the ocean, delighting itself in juggling the prism of sunbeams over the water's surface. And then, as the sun rises up to warm the world up, it is said the ocean begins to simmer, and starts pushing and prodding the wind to blow over land, reminding the wind of its diurnal duty.

The land is where the creatures live - those that carry the burden of their creator's guilt. He, the creator, knew the creatures would lose their way, yet he had to let them free. It was an unprecedented dilemma - a conflict between His omnipotence and His infinite mercy. He never resolved that dilemma, and let his creatures be, and now the ocean, in all its infinite capacity, was left to clean up the mess.

Every morning the ocean puffed the wind to go over land. The wind blew, tossing and turning, high over the land, until it covered and enveloped all creatures, far and wide. Then it waits until dusk, when the creatures returned to their resting places, and it descends upon them, blowing its cool countenance, humming its pleasing lullaby into their ear. The night wind rained upon the world, cooling and assuaging the hearts of the men.

And then over the night, as they slept, it swept away their pains, soothed their burns and filled them with evergreen life. Having laden itself with the hushed and inscrutable secrets of life, the wind returns to the ocean. And no sooner has it reached the ocean, it dumps its weighty contents, like a child peeing gleefully on its mother.

The sea absorbs them all, into its deep heart that is full of life's rants and ramblings. And by the next morning, the wind is ready to redo its cycle all over again.

One needs to get to the bottom of the ocean the see history written in the great waters. The ocean floor is a collage of historic dimensions; everything from the beginning of this world is written out there, as a secret never to be read.