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naswanson

Nick Swanson
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Each step I take brings me to a land more foreign than I could ever imagine. Rugged angry statues of molten earth lay as if frozen in time, waiting, anticipating, for something to pass. The wind is wicked as it bellows from the mountainside, its hollow rage is unchallenged on this barren landscape as it whips down to the ocean. The sun is slowly setting, the remnants of its brutal heat is apparent as the land before me shimmers with heat. The land here is very alive and very dead. As my path nears an end, I hear a thunderous sound silencing even winds angry calls. I pause to listen, looking to the clouds I see shades of gray but no sign of a thunderstorm. I step forward through a bramble bush, the only gnarled piece of life that can tie its roots in this place, to see the rocks give way to the ocean. In front of me the ocean is alive and thrashing, dark ominous and full of energy it swirls and gathers itself for a battle. The rugged black landscape suddenly halts to ocean, cliffs as dark as midnight lay twenty, thirty feet in front of me. I watch in amazement as the ocean gathers for another surge against the rocks, as if a war raged in front of me. The ocean slowly gathers speed and rams into the cliffs, creating a reverberating thunder as if it is the earths groins of death giving into the sea. Had I been here hundreds of years ago, I would say this is truly the end of the world, the place where earth itself drops away to the ocean, to space itself, and is no more. I climb to the very edge of worlds end, dangling my feet precariously off the edge to see the blue-gray waters below. The water gives way for a moment to reveal large black boulders, casualties of this war, laying countless in the water. The sea again gathers for its assault, retreating its front lines for a moment as the swell gathers. I hold tight to the rocks around me as I know the power of the ocean is strong. The waves first assault the cliffs to the east of me, explosions of salty vapor cascade from each crevasse of the rocks. A thunderous rolling of the earth starts to rumble the ground, softly from the distance, but growing more violent as the waves assault comes closer. The ocean is almost upon my now feeble feeling stretch of rock, the swell has grown three times its beginning size as it sends its wicked frontline to attack. The waves makes impact with the stones I stand on, instantly I am cascaded into a thick vapor, as the earth shakes and roars in pain at the impact. I hold tight to the sharp rocks while the seas shockingly cold waters envelope me. There is a moment where time slows, a silent struggle between the earth and the sea, then the world speeds back and the waters crash back and begun to retreat once more.
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The constant pitter patter of the rain slapping against the window helps drown out the feeling of tension inside the cabin. A plume of breath dissipates against the steering wheel I'm clutching intensely. Why am I here? Not this specific place; why am I alive? Why do I breathe? What purpose to my life? Space and time is irrelevant, it feels like a thousand years could pass and I would never know.
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Journey Blog to The Sea's Fury by naswanson, journal

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