For the past five days I have swam in a small bay on the Pacific Ocean at Xinalani. Under the shade of a white canvas umbrella I have contemplated the forms of boulders that make up a cliff that separates the small beach from a river. I had given little thought to the river the locals tell me has no name, instead I have busied myself with the blue coolness of the ocean.
It is the start of the rainy season. Locals welcome the rain as Mexico is thirsty for water. Rain drops fell last night with little respite. The rain was not severe but consistent. The shallow river of yesterday is swollen today.
Swollen rivers merging with the sea is as ancient as water itself.
To watch the dirt tainted water bleed into the sea reminds me that all water returns to the ocean. And all runoff and trash that empties into a river will ultimately dump into the sea. As author Zora Neale Hurst wrote, “Don’t you realize the sea is home to water. All water is off on a journey unless it is in the sea, and it’s homesick, and bound to make it’s way home someday.”
The water from the river will be enveloped by the expansive sea. The line that distinguish between the river water and the sea will slowly fade until all that remains is the clear blue water of the sea. The river water and all its contents will again make its “home” in the sea.