The sea is without roads, the sea is without explanations.
The sea rebels against my stubborn attempts to understand it.
I didn’t think it would be so hard to be in front of him.
And I wander around without finding the beginning of what I seek, the entrance to any answer.
Where does the end of the sea begin?
Or even: what do we say when we say: MARE ?
Shall we say the immense monster capable of devouring anything, or that foam wave around our feet?
The water you can hold in your hand or the abyss no one can see?
Do we say everything in one word or in one word do we hide everything?
I’m standing here, one step away from the sea, and I don’t even understand him, where he is.
The sea.
The sea.
Once you’ve drawn your eyes, they’re around that initial point.
One can almost avoid looking at the pattern, everything comes on its own, the mouth, the curve of the neck, even the hands...
But what’s important is to start with the eyes, you know?
And here is the real problem, the problem that drives me crazy, is exactly here:....
The problem is, where the hell are the eyes of the sea?
I’ll never be able to do anything until I find out, because that’s the principle, you know?
And until I figure out where he is, I’m gonna keep spending my days looking at this damn stretch of water...
This is the problem: where does the sea begin?
Where are the eyes, the sea?
-Ships are the eyes of the sea.
But there are hundreds of ships...
-He’s got hundreds of eyes, he. You don’t want him to deal with two.
Actually. With all the work he’s got. It’s as big as it is.
And the shipwrecks? The storms, the typhoons, all those things there...
Why would he swallow those ships, if they’re his eyes?
-But you... you never close your eyes?
from "Oceano Mare" in Baricco
