Buddha

Fiction - Stationhill.com

Buddha

Fiction by Nichole Stevens

Tumbling across pebbles and stones a salted breath of the sea blows as if folding a pearl. Carried by a wind thrown from the powerful waves that buckle under such force, rolls the salt ridden air up the bluff that fences the beach. 50, 60 feet the cliff towers, threatening erosion on all below. Unawares, maybe unconcerned, or perhaps out of pure trust rests a simple man in meditation purposely placed on the edge. The mineral spray of the musty breeze closes his eyelids, numbing his cheeks a rosy red, and rustles the prairie that hides him. Silently contemplating the mysterious water a scene below draws some attention; a young boy clad in overalls rolled above the ankle to expose his bare feet, climbs from a rather rickety "antique" of a fishing boat. The pair emerges as an apparition from the sea; bearing its gifts as well. A fishing net drapes the sides of the un-seaworthy vessel, the boy revealing spills of fish that gush over the side as he struggles with the heavy load. Continuing the work more suited for a man double the boy's size; he gathers his feast in baskets and on hooks. Laden with basketry, exposed fish, nets, and seaweed that hitched a ride, the boy vanishes as fast as he had appeared; resembling a monster from the depths.

Seemingly alone, once again with the raging inlet of sea, a second vision develops below. A most beautiful couple in an equally startling sail boat that glistens a pearlescent baby blue, twinkling like a skilled artisan cut diamond. Such a blue seems to challenge its perfection against the ocean's wild and rampant personality. The woman floats phantom like across the short stretch of water that licks the shore, to stand erect and defiant against the persistent wind. Her counterpart trots to meet her. Though no sounds can be heard from the perch on the bluff coastline, the couple's discontent is obvious. Greased leather luggage is now being carried to the shore on the backs and shoulders of a crew, unconcerned with the troubles of the baggage owners. Suitcases and trunks stacked neatly on the dry stones, the hands disperse, perhaps to their expecting homes; leaving the two to quarrel animatedly resembling a silent film, as dusk set in. Like an axe splitting a log in two, the couple march off in opposite directions leaving their luggage as the tide creeps in slowly pushing their boat further out to sea.

The third revelation appears in the form of a suspicious fellow of whom only a silhouette can be made out through the approaching darkness. As a tin can with a motor carries the mysterious figure to the shore, the lantern guiding its way is extinguished leaving only a dull grey outline of the elusive character as he makes his way up the beach, leaving the dingy to cant with the ebb and flow of the encroaching tide. He slides up the diminishing landing with grave urgency to vanish as he crosses over into the shadow of the bluff, leaving no trace of his brief existence.

The lullaby of the ocean returns as the ocean's swells reach their height to roll into a crashing metronome that melts into an enveloping whirr. Though the constant comfort of the ocean never left, the distraction of the visions below obstructed and blocked the message of the sea. The simple soul comes to the conclusion that good things come to those who wait, but the trick is knowing when to act and when to be silent and observe. And perhaps the condition of one's boat does not always determine the perfection of the quality within. How mysterious the great water is, yet it materializes great wonders to an eternal destiny, while its own seems to have no history.

Nichole Stevens, age 17