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Where the Tides Hide Their Memory
Where the Tides Hide Their Memory
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Guest
Guest
Jul 30, 2025
6:17 AM
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Photograph this.
You're position barefoot at the side of the ocean. The air is heavy with sodium, the sky painted in bruised purples and firelight from the desperate sun. The dunes race forward, curling and breaking at the feet, before falling calmly back to the depths.
But that isn't only water pressing you.
Since every tide… carries memory.
The same wave that brushes against your legs tonight when taken around sides you may never know. It hidden forgotten towns, cooled lava as it spilled from newborn volcanoes, and drowned woods that endured before humans actually dreamed of walking upright. It carried the ashes of shoots that burnt out a lot of years ago. It's held the bones of sailors who vanished into the night, their sounds swallowed by wind and water.
And now it details you.
The hold requires pieces of the planet with it everytime it retreats — grains of sand from hills that fell sometime ago, shells that once sheltered lives smaller than the usual fingernail, fragments of rock and glass used easy from generations of tumbling. Where do each goes? To the areas we can not see. Into trenches greater than Everest is tall, into dark canyons where mild hasn't handled, in to currents that range the world like arteries.
The hold hides every thing it collects, burying the world's thoughts in a silence also huge for people to break.
We inform ourselves we understand it. We information its designs, build walls and harbors to struggle it, name the hours when it will increase and fall. Nevertheless the wave does not care about our measurements. It never belonged to us. It concentrates only to the moon.
That pale ghost in the sky, distant and untouchable, pulls at the oceans every moment of each and every day. The water extends toward it, rising to generally meet its hidden hand. And once the moon turns away, the water comes back. That quiet tug-of-war has designed the world for billions of years. Actually the deepest seas are connected to something beyond themselves.
Yet the tide is changing.
It's creeping further inland now. Glaciers are melting in to its depths, warming seas are swelling its body, and shorelines are vanishing part by piece. Islands we once thought timeless are actually removed, decreased to just names on old maps.
And listed here is the reality most people don't need to face: the wave will not end for us.
We contact it disaster. The tide calls it nothing at all. It just continues, because it generally has, getting and providing, sculpting and erasing. It's removed entire continents before. It will do therefore again.
Is it possible to imagine the long run?
The water moves within the towns we built. Roads disappear beneath the dunes, their asphalt damaged and damaged like old bone. Towers fall to the search, turning in to reefs wherever fish move through quiet glass halls. Monuments fall, broken and dispersed until they're indistinguishable from the rocks of the seabed. Entire civilizations are paid down to pieces, overly enthusiastic by currents so solid we're able to never move against them.
And when it occurs, the wave won't roar. It will not rage. It will not mourn.
It only will remember.
Since that is what the hold does. It is the planet's memory. Every living, every surprise, every reduction is folded in to their depths and carried forward. The hold has watched entire worlds rise and fall. It understands things no human language can ever hold.
But the wave is not only a thief. It is a sculptor.
It provides living to the shore. It provides vitamins to estuaries and marshlands where new animals are born. It forms the ends of the planet earth, smoothing sharp rocks in to soft rocks, remaking beaches with every breath. Without the wave, the planet's heartbeat could falter. Oceans might stagnate. Coastlines might wither.
Perhaps that's why we're drawn to it.
We go to the water's side without generally understanding why. Kids pursuit the retreating dunes, laughing, then shriek when it rushes back toward them. People stay at the shoreline all night, hypnotized by the beat, making the noise of these lives slide away. There's anything endless in the tide's air — something that calls to the part of us that recalls where we got from.
Because we came from the water once.
The hold carried life onto the land. It cradled the initial sensitive animals that dared to crawl from the shallows. And perhaps that's why we feel therefore little position before it today — perhaps not because it can take everything from people, but since in certain deep, unspoken way, we all know it offered us everything first.
Stay there good enough, and you'll begin to notice the details. The calm whip at your ankles because it pulls away. The hiss of pockets collapsing in the foam. The weak, very nearly individual sigh as it exhales onto the sand.
In the event that you listen strongly, you might hear the tide telling you a reality:
“Nothing you understand is permanent.
But nothing is really lost, either.”
One day, the hold may roll around the entire world as if we were never here. The titles of our towns, the edges we struggled conflicts to protect, the monuments we created to outlast time — the whole thing is likely to be taken away, melted, and carried into the deep.
And yet… there is an odd comfort in that.
Because the hold tells people that individuals are section of anything larger than ourselves. A thing that does not need people, but keeps people the same. Everything we do, every thing we construct, every breath we take becomes element of its memory. The wave keeps it, also whenever we are gone.
You will never know all so it carries. Nothing of us will.
But the next time you're at the beach, stop. Feel the take at your feet. View the dunes bring lines in the mud, then erase them without hesitation. Remember that the same hold handled lives you may never meet and will touch lives Planet following yours.
It does not subject in the event that you forget.
The wave won't.
The tides won't ever inform us their secrets.
But if you're quiet enough, you may experience them in your bones.
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