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I am sitting crosslegged, my forearms relaxed upon my knees, my eyes closed, my head to one side, listening. I can hear waves, that gentle sussuro of surf against sand, of wind on water. Beneath me the rock is cool and solid, rooted into the deepest earth, ancient in its allegiance. The smell of the sea is intoxicating, fresh and turbulent, full of spice and far-off thunder, cooling against my brow amidst the gentle heat of the sun overhead.

I open my eyes. I am sitting on a rocky outcrop, centred to an island in a vast sea. A wide beach of golden sand bounds the liminality of my domain, grasses bend in the breeze, trees sway, creatures flit and dance in the shadows. From out of the silence comes an almost inaudible cacophony of life. In the distance the sea is medley of subtlety, currents painting nuance and serenity across its surface.

I sit here, alone; I am myself, somewhere between what I once was and what I am today. This day is a good day.

Some days I wake, and the storms rage and howl, as if driven mad. The winds beat and thrash the waves, savaging them with unrelenting ferocity.

My island is now a single solitary spire of rock, perilous in its fragility, its surface beaten smooth by primal forces. I cling, the wind and rain lashing me, numbing me, freezing me. The wind roars and snarls at me, tugging at my fingers, trying to pull me from my bastion, to fling me screaming into the sky, tossed between waves and cloud, lightning and thunder cruel cues for my disembodiment. Beneath me that terrible familiar sea would reach up for me, seeking to crush me within its depths; drowning my senses from time and place.

I cling, my every breath a bruise; the rock trembling and moaning with me as my tears stain its surface. I am a child, with a child's fears and a child's strength, the years stripped away by the maelstrom around me.

On other days I stand, powerful in my surety, the rock beneath my feet a mountain, the raging of the sea and the wailing of the elements far beneath me. Up here no sound reachs me, there is only the purity of the sky, the silence vast and diffident, its halo blue paled by the singular sun far, far above. I am fast here, none may assail me, this place is mine and it cannot be undone. I stand and I am indifferent to the world, old beyond knowing.

I am the sea and the sky and the sand. I am the wind and the rage, the calm and the silence. I am the rock and the mountain and sun so far above. I am the everything and the nothing. This is my world, and I its only inhabitant.