| *** Waves lap at the pagoda by the seaside -- the sea is rising, the land is sinking. The pagoda walls still bear the scars left by the dog, and the birdcage remains in the innermost chamber, but nothing is left but the soggy remains of porcelain cups, a few piles of rubble where vandals have defaced and pillaged. Such a needless thing to destroy, to tear down. Everything is torn down eventually. The real beauty is in erecting survival. Gathering stray shards of wood, you create a bonfire on the beach that night. Even in its dilapidated state, the pagoda still shines like a jewel in the firelight, and you lose yourself in the reflections that dance on its walls. The wind ushers the crashing waves onto land, or perhaps it is the other way around. Pressing both hands to your  | Lin Page 22 heart -- Yes, it is quite there -- you lie on your back and take it all in, the warmth of the fire on your face, the spray of the sea on your body, the wind tousling your long hair. You reflect, as you have many times before: Soon this age will be over, and another will begin, and I will still be here, with the sand, clouds, sea, fire, wind. For the first time, that thought beings grief, and you cry, for hours, salty tears that would dry up even the sea, while above you, the clouds and stars part to indicate the path not yet taken. Ho Lin is an editor and webmaster of Caveat Lector. Sample his website: www.holin.50g.com.  | |
