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Where the Tides Hide Their Memory
Where the Tides Hide Their Memory
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xigekeys
45 posts
Jul 29, 2025
10:51 PM
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The hold generally results, however it never earnings the same. Twice each day, it moves in and out just like a Air, significant over the shore with a rhythm older than language. It variations the stones, the sand, the roots of the mangroves, only to retreat and come again. But as it goes, it requires items of the planet with it — grains of mud, components of layer, fragments of storage — carrying them out to the areas we cannot see.
We watch the wave rise and fall and envision that we understand it, it is an easy trade between sea and shore. But what we see is the surface. Underneath the water, the hold drags entire worlds with it. It pulls at the sources of marine woods, it sweeps over hidden canyons, it whispers through the crashes of vessels and the bones of things that never managed to get home. It's been going such as this because long before we stood at the edge of the ocean, and it will keep on long following we're gone.
Every hold is just a memory. It carries with it the dirt of faded mountains, the ash of old shoots, the pollen of flowers that bloomed a lot of decades ago. It recalls the laughter of kiddies playing at the shoreline, the weight of storms that have drowned cities, the sounds of sailors who cried out for help as their ships were pulled under. But it generally does not tell these experiences aloud. It keeps them close, flip them greater to the water every time it retreats.
The tides are shaped by the moon — that soft wanderer over us that has never touched the earth, yet regulates the edge of each and every ocean. The moon brings the water toward it as it groups the world, and the water obeys, rising and falling with a persistence we cannot fathom. It is not just a severe order, but a peaceful tether, a note that even the heaviest seas are destined to something beyond themselves. And for the reason that pull lies a memory too: the storage of a world without people, some sort of still small and molten, once the tides were also stronger since the moon was closer, taking harder at the oceans.
We stay at the edge of the ocean and believe the tide is predictable. We build harbors and cities and walls, as though its flow is ours to master. However the wave has never really belonged to us. It doesn't take care of our calendars or our ports. It'll delay as long as it must, since it has already waited longer than we could comprehend. It'll go back to state what we construct, the same way it said the footprints of those that stood on the shore before us.
Occasionally, once the breeze is low and the water is relaxed, you are able to hear the hold speaking — perhaps not in words, in the hush of foam on sand, in the delicate crackle of salt and stone. Their style is calm, but not empty. It is a voice that understands a great deal to shout. It has seen woods sink beneath their weight and deserts blossom wherever oceans when lay. It has cleared entire coastlines with its slow patience. It's held techniques in their depths that'll never be unearthed.
And yet, for all their stop, the hold gives. It designs the world as much as it requires from it. It gives nutritional elements to the shores, feeds numerous creatures, carves out estuaries and marshlands wherever new living may thrive. The hold is really a sculptor, smoothing rock and reshaping shores one air at a time. Without it, the oceans could stagnate, the coasts would decline, and the world could develop still.
We're interested in the wave, nevertheless we seldom realize why. Children pursuit it as it retreats, then flee as it rushes straight back in. Adults stay at the edge of the ocean all night, hearing, seeing, emotion something wake inside them they can't name. There is something timeless in the tide's rhythm, something that talks to the portion folks that remembers we came from water Planet ago. Possibly we are not too different from the cereals of sand it carries. Possibly we, too, are destined to be taken away, to become part of something vaster than ourselves.
But the wave does not rush. It movements at its own pace, never hurried, never uncertain. Even when storms rise and dunes crash with the fury of the air, the tide is continuous beneath it all. It knows that the disorder can fade, that the winds can tire, and it will still be there, holding the world quietly in one destination for a Another.
We treat the ocean as although it is separate from us, like its rise and drop is something to anxiety or control. But the stark reality is that people are destined to it as tightly because it is likely to the moon. Its cycles are our cycles. Its storage is our memory. And when we dismiss it, we forget an integral part of ourselves.
The hold is increasing higher now. Glaciers dissolve in to their body, heating currents enlarge, and shorelines are drawn further inland than we've actually known. Some call that change a tragedy, however the hold does not contact it anything at all. It is only returning what was always their own. We see disaster; the tide considers only continuity.
There may come per day when the hold can move within the destroys of our cities. It'll holder the bones of connections and the frames of systems only because it cradled coral reefs and shipwrecks before. It will grind glass and metal into sand, scatter our monuments into parts so small they will be moved to remote shores, unrecognizable. And extended next, the hold will still be going, however holding the storage of the world we created, still folding it deeper in to the water with each breath.
The wave does not want us. It doesn't require our agreement, our anxiety, our gratitude. It really actions as it must. It is over the age of our language, older than our gods, older compared to planet we all know now. It remembers every earth that got before, and it'll remember the sides which come after.
We will never know all that it carries. We are able to just stay at the shore, have the take at our feet, and know that we are section of something we will never truly understand.
The tides will not inform us their secrets.
We must understand to listen to their silence
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