I don’t see him because I live between the inner walls of the inland. I can’t hear him because I’m surrounded by the sounds of the road and the factory. I don’t feel him, because there is almost no room for feeling here in the crowd of civilisation. Therefore, I have to reach it, fly it, dream it up.
But it is not the Sea as the Sea. There are snorkelling seas, all-in seas, tourists infested seas and concreted seas. You have to find your way to the right Sea and the best way to find your way to your Sea is to get lost. Get lost from GPS, from the road, from the polished and chrome beaches, go far and farther, where the transition between sand, stones, water and light is cleared.
And then, behind that long sand dune, you suddenly see him. Suddenly you hear and feel him. And your dreams fly like seagulls towards the sun, drowning in the waves. And the Sea is in you, and it is deep, mysterious, fearfull, and it is also old, terribly old, much older than you, and you are suddenly young and beautiful and unrestrained.