White

This is a sand dollar. A work of art. But in this photo we are merely witnessing a photo, a reproduction of art as in Walter Benjamin's "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction." The sand dollar has been the subject of many works of art over time. I have seen countless paintings, collages, and imitations of the sand dollar. Even if one does not live by a beach one may gain access to something that utilizes the sand dollar. Nothing, however, will compare to the real thing.

They were alive at one point, all of them. Hundreds of sand dollars line the bottom of the ocean. With the water at my ankles I can see through the clear water to the bottom where hundreds of them lye dead. They used to be alive. Green and coarse like wet sand paper. For whatever reason there has been a sand dollar genocide. It is sad to know that once the hundreds of lifeless beings that lye before me used to all be alive and something killed them. When people die they become pale, white, lifeless. When sand dollars die their color turns from green to white. It is a sad thing, death. Whether it be a person or a small creature that barely moves or makes a sound when it was alive.

"All I kept wondering was if you could see me, hear me. Know how much I was missing and needing you."

 http://foreignertypes.blogspot.com/

My Moment

After waxing my surfboard I pull my navy blue rash guard over my head, attach the leash to my ankle and make my way to the shore. The water ripples over my toes as I stand at the edge of the ocean where the beach ends and the sea begins. My board splashes into the water and I begin to paddle. I dip my left hand followed by my right into the water and propel myself forward pushing the water back behind me. The board glides through the water similar to a rower gliding through. After paddling out a reasonable distance, I stop and sit upright on the board. 

I look out into the horizon. The nearest surfer is so distant from me, it feels as though I am alone. In between wave breaks the water is still and flat. It is in this moment that it is only myself and the board waiting in the mass we call the ocean. It is invigorating yet intimidating at the same time. 

"It was the perfect way to clear my head...I knew I could leave life on land for the water was all about me." 

 A wave begins to rise from flatness of the ocean. I turn to face the beach and begin to paddle. Faster and faster and harder and harder.  I pull and pull until finally the time comes to stand and ride the wave. Flying through the water I feel weightless and free. It was my feeling, my moment, my drug.

GG. myconstellationprize.blogspot.com

La Sombra Linda

The beach is pretty, no doubt about that. There is even a beach in California called "Hermosa" which means beautiful. I start my day with the blue skies and the white clouds. The powdery white sand is lined with sea shells. But none of it lasts. Eventually the day transitions into the evening. Much like a woman adjusts her outfit and makeup, the beach transforms itself from day to night.

I sit on the sand and hold on to the last few minutes of daylight. As the sun sets a shadow is casted. We are so focused on the sunset and all of its beauty that we neglect to see what is happening. Everything that had significance and meaning throughout the day turns dark. People become silhouettes with no features but a black outline. The ocean consumes everything as the Congo River consumes everything in The Heart of Darkness.

It truly is beautiful. Hermosa. It leaves us all behind. I sat, waited, and the Earth turned and the Sun set. I feel forgotten, abandoned. I am not ready for it to be over. But the Earth was ready and the sun was ready. I become nothing but a shadow left behind. The remains of a beautiful sunset. A pretty shadow. It is over now and with nothing else to look forward to I get up and leave looking back. It was beautiful, though.

"You were another blink of those eyes that once cried for you , another sunset that he can watch out his window every evening..."

                -http://heavy-boots-and-parachutes.blogspot.com/

Dreams and Reality

"Sometimes I can’t even distinguish between real memories and ones I’ve made up...Those are the ones that, if I close my eyes, I can’t remember the details of their faces, just a general feeling. Dreams work that way too."

                          -Jane Doe 

I remember the beach, the sand, and the waves. A bird walks across the shallow water along the shore. But is it this particular beach at this particular time that I remember? Countless times I have been on a beach and seen a bird. I wonder what makes this memory distinct. What details from this time make this memory of a bird on a beach different from the other memories of birds on beaches? It is as if every memory similar to this one is clouded into one large memory of a bird, the sand, the water, and the beach.

 Then I wonder whether or not the details of my memories are entirely accurate. I think of whether or not the image in my head is exactly what I saw that day. It could be a cliche of what I thought I saw. An image of "the beach" and what it would look like in a movie or on television. It might even be a dream or a mashup of my dreams along with my actual memories. What was real and what was imagined are indistinguishable. The lines between dream, memories, and reality all become blurred. One mass of details and colors remain. 

http://autobot3264.blogspot.com/2012/09/number-one.html#comment-form

The day with holds life and excitement. Children play in the sand. Jet skis zoom across the horizon. Dolphins arch themselves and swim through the water. Joggers run leaving their footprints in the sand. Umbrellas scatter the beach; blue, white, and green. Skim boards glide along the shore line. White puffy clouds crawl along the blue sky. The aqua blue and green shades of the ocean water turn to white as the waves break against the shore line.
Later everything changes. Sand castles have fallen. Where there once were umbrellas and chairs only remain holes. The earth turns, the clouds shift, the sun sets and sinks into the ocean. It fills the sky with hues of orange, red, and pink. The water is black and appears lifeless but for the occasional ripple that creeps upon the shore. A single white sand dollar lies on the ground. It is dead. Hundreds of them lie scattered along the shallow water of the ocean floor. All white. All dead. A crane walks on the beach then spreads its wings and takes flight. It disappears into the night sky. The ocean swallows the sun , darkness falls, and that is all that remains. No separation between the sun and the sky,  but one mass of darkness.