Rage, Passion

The coastal regions we managed to visit in Taiwan were mostly rocky beaches which bore ferocious waves. I haven't stood before strong currents and winds in awhile, the kinds that sprinkle your lips salty and mess your hair in just one blow. I thought that if something could be represented by the crashing waves beating furiously against the rock formations that we saw, it would be wrath. I asked Nabsie to which she said, 'rage'. I held that thought for sometime before I realised that the waves would probably symbolise more than just wrath or rage. I decided that waves would symbolise passion the most. Tidal and rhythmic, always coming and going, inconsistently consistent, sometimes unwarranted and other times welcomed, sometimes quieter and other times louder, sometimes weaker and other times stronger, sometimes consuming and engulfing but other times forming calming melodies, sometimes they work with us and other times against. They take in various forms, at one time resembling rage, other times resembling trembling happiness, or melancholy. And we stood, allowing these waves roar, echoing their mightiness and strength, while we held on tightly to ourselves feeling like everything else would be blown away except our feet. And I thought about how we too, as our passions wash over us, are trees in our own rights. We strive to anchor ourselves and grow roots where we see pastures worth nurturing, where we see places worth settling for. We let ourselves get washed by waves of inspiration and passion, and allow ourselves to be bent and swayed with the winds, while we still stand rooted and grounded, like trees.