Apples Of Gold - RicPerrott.com

A tranquil calm settles over the area, and for the moment there is only me. The passing wind gently teases me; the water, endlessly churning, is a constant peaceful sensation. In times such as these, there exists only what one wants to exist, not what the forces of life, or nature would have thrust upon us.

Perhaps there are only times like these fleetingly, so that we may appreciate them more when they arrive. Paradoxically, I find comfort and tranquility in this barrage of cacophony. Watching the water helps to sooth me. It helps to shed the hostility of the scales, built through the week. Perhaps more of these tranquil times are near, and I can feel not so much like a stranger in my own backyard.

The cool tingle of a chilled breeze finds its way across my back, breaking my trance-like lock on the water below me. It's as if I can feel things others cannot, as if I can connect on a deeper level. Maybe I've just learned to appreciate these things for what they are, and not toss them aside as so much background fodder.

I have a need for peace in my life, a need for calm and security. I do want to feel reckless at times, but I still must exercise my need for self-acceptance; for the feeling I had when I was a child. My constant companion is away from me, and I feel alone. Amidst the gathering crowds, I am still alone, for they belong to a world I cannot understand.

This is my struggle. Here I find calm. I hold hopes high that it does not pass.

What brings me here sometimes I do not know, I am only aware of the sensation, the need, the yearning. It beckons me to go where I once belonged, to try and return to the place that I once knew so well.

This one was written at the South Street Seaport on the lower East Side of Manhattan sometime in the Spring of 1993. The job that I had at the time had its offices on Water St., which is barely a stones throw from the Seaport, and as a result I found myself spending a lot of time down there after hours. This particular day was one of the first nice days of the year, with the temperature finally reaching that highly anticipated no-jacket-required level. So after work, I packed up my laptop and headed on down to the pier, where I used to like to sit and meditate about the day's events while at the same time letting the stress melt from my bones by listening to the water crash against the docks.

Water has always had a wonderful effect on me, it never fails to soothe me when I'm over stressed, or bring clarity to me when I find myself addled by anxiousness. I suppose that deep down it's a instinctual "return to the womb", but I try not to let myself get caught up in the psychology of it all. I've been lucky enough to live near a body of water for all of my life, and I don't think I could imagine living in a landlocked area—no offense of course to those who do—because the water has become an intrinsic part of my life, part of my healing process, part of my marathon to retain my sanity.