I stood on the east side of the bridge that day. The mist was coming down just enough to make me squint, yet not enough to make me run for shelter. There was lots of life out and about. The birds swooped over the bait fish. The fishermen were casting their rods. The waves were making their way towards the beach, one after the other. I peered out into the sea, eyes half closed, hood pulled down to my brows. It was as if the sea peered back at me, looking at me, seeing me beneath my weather gear.
All at once, with everything yet nothing happening, it hit me. The space. Each piece was collectively adding to space, and at the same time, space was birthing every-thing. The algae that covered rocks. The lively creatures that were moving about. The bridge that stood tall, stretching from one side of the inlet to the other. The sand that supported my feet. The ocean that was moving in its constant motion. The waves that were peaking. Even myself, I exist because of space.
I saw the space being filled. I saw the empty space spared for mere existence. I saw the lull between the waves, that allows for them to form. I saw the fisherman’s line as it spliced thin air. I saw the basin that cradles the entire ocean. I saw the sky between each drop of mist. I saw my lungs fill and empty in a continuous gesture. I even saw the pause between my thoughts. It was as miraculous as it was simple. For one births the other. Space births reality. Reality provides the tangible space for existence.