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A wave is born of the Breath of the Wind, or perhaps of a deep Tremor, and from the outset is directed towards an ultimate destination. Some are born in the height of a great gale, while others enter existence on the tail of a soft summer breeze.

The wave journeys far across the open sea until met with an equal or stronger force to which it must succumb or, if fortunate, gains speed and the value of circular, repetitive rhythm as it moves ever forward towards its purpose. Despite magnitude and might, it is helpless to escape the fate of all waves which circle on until the sight of land invokes excitement and also rage as the end approaches. The wave swells as if to make one last attempt at fighting its imminent death and begins to spill itself over, a white trickle at first which slowly infects the whole of the body.

A roar is issued forth as the culmination of a life spent harrowing the deep mysteries is broken onto the shore, crawling, feeling its way slowly onto the new home, depositing its richness and substance which it has accumulated on the journey. The surroundings barely have time to mourn the loss of the aged wave before the next suffers the same fate, collapsing almost on top of its predecessor, drowning out its last, soft hiss as it releases itself completely.

While echoes of the tragic are heard in the decay of this life, this particular eternal melody is as familiar as the rhythm of the wave’s birth. The final convergence of the two elements separated from the Beginning (land and sea) marks the unification of the two worlds as each of many thousands once again touches the place marked off from the Origin. Then, the remains of the broken wave creep ever so gently back into the mix, giving its skeleton away to be caught up, reshaped, reformed, and molded once again by the Spirit of the Wind.

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