In Europe where the sardine in a tin syndrome on the beach is still greatly popular, sand is rather the color grey or brown.
And rubble ever present.
How else can it, when thousands try to fit on a stretch of sand designed for hundreds
AGH the beaches of OZ nothing like it, it heaves my heart to look at them again and feel those delicious grains between my toes when I step on that white splendor. The waves clean and mighty rolling on and on.
In India recently Sonja and I discovered early in the morning that the beach edge is the toilet for the whole village, who could possibly go in the water after that, even if it is a dream....
I must confess the images of India are still haunting me, the dream is powerfull indeed:
What is there God created to be sick? And what that He created not can be? Let not your eyes behold a dream; your ears bear witness to illusion.
They were made to look upon a world that is not there; to hear the voices that can make no sound. Yet are there other sounds and other sights that can be seen and heard and understood.
For eyes and ears are senses without sense, and what they see and hear they but report. It is not they that hear and see, but you, who put together every jagged piece, each senseless scrap and shred of evidence, and make a witness to the world you want.
Let not the body's ears and eyes perceive these countless fragments seen within the gap that you imagined, and let them persuade their maker his imaginings are real.
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