Nude Sea
A series of photos and text by Stephen Martin
Under Development
It's an easy thing to clean ~ the ocean.
Don't you think so?
It got trashed pretty easy anyway....
If today's trash can make it all the way to the trash can instead of falling to
the street,
we can prevent the ocean from getting worse.
Creatures of the Sand
09/01/2011
If you were to compare yourself today to the 'you' of ten years ago:
What changed you? Who changed you? Have you become smarter? Stronger? Or have
the sands of time worn you down?
Creatures of the Sand
We are those who have been broken down. Every day brings new troubles. Every
incoming tide brings its pounding waves.
But we are not changed. Sand remains sand.
Whether the edges have become more jagged or perhaps more rounded smooth ~ does that matter?
We remain who we originally were, because life and the never-ending problems
that come with it cannot change our values; what we believe in; why we exist;
our motivations; our passions.
Break me down. Throw me around.
Plop me into the think-tank composed of you and those who think like you; mass yourselves upon me and stomp me into shape.
You cannot change my core identity!
You cannot substitute your mind for mine.
If I am with you; if I am listening to you ~ it's not for any other reason than
the fact that I respect you enough to give you a moment in my life.
To shape me? To build me up? To mash me down?
Would you disrespect me in return? Walk on me; step on me; see if I prove
resilient!
You think I've no backbone? I comply with you and that is all.
You will not corrupt me. You cannot break me.
I know what I believe AND... I know why I
believe it.
Let the waves of time take me this way; push me that. I will allow you to think
you have shaped me ~ broken me.
Surprise! Me survives!
Immortal and not bound by time, I remain a Creature of the Sand.
Text and photos copyright Stephen martin
Protect the Ocean!!
Roadside trash drains to the ocean.
The ocean wears a flirty skirt. Help keep it beautiful!
Creatures of the Wood
photos and text copyright Stephen Martin
I awoke into a scene of utter darkness.
Earthy scent.
Raw dirt covering my face.
Determination urged me forward.
Startling; to discover my own power; that yes, earth would move if I pushed.
Clean air.
Everything a new discovery!
Forward; upward; onward: into my own blue sky.
Taller now. Above the dirt.
And surrounded by giants whose
eruption from the womb of Mother Earth
preceded mine.
"Nah-Kay," he announced as
a form of introduction; his voice that of an old man;
soft of wind but vibrating
with assurance, authority and confidence.
The ancient spirit wore hunting leathers
beneath the cloak of his many-colored woolen shawl.
He bent slightly forward; a
posture both humble and proud. His gray hair; long and braided.
His wrinkled
face; a collection of many weary paths leading him to victory at every battle.
And now to greet me and guide me into knowledge.
"I cannot move!"
He urged me forward despite my burden.
Out, I stretched; my arms growing longer, stronger
and with many fingers touching at the winds.
Long, grew my hair; its spiky
fronds dancing in the salty breezes.
Yes, I could see it now: tall enough to at
last see the source of the dancing grasses at my feet: the blues
and greens of
Pacific tides creating my horizon.
Soon the winds grew colder, stronger; fierce.
"Return," he instructed, and immediately we were below the soil together. A
cave. Many caves.
Long, narrow passageways into which my toes already knew the
way.
"Why do I know this place?" I asked.
The sound of many waters splashing;
all around me; from all directions and whisking deeper
into the earth than I
could see. More and more, the waters raced past me, coming down from heaven
and
veining down into the heart of our resting Mother.
"Awaken," he urged; Nah-kay.
Once again, I realized I'd fallen asleep. Instantly I was alert; the sky was
clear and blue, and I stood tall.
Beside me, many brethren. A forest full of my
family members. I was not alone upon the earth! My hair
began to reappear. My
limbs grew longer; stronger; thicker. Birds rested on me and sang their morning
songs; their loving songs to one another while hiding in the thickness of my
hair; they built nests from
parts of me that had fallen from season's winds.
"Look!" I shouted to my brother, the redwood on the slope. "Humans! See them!
Those who can walk!
See how they freely move about!"
Several men, some women, some children.
"I can help you!" I wished to shout out as they found their walk
stopped by a creek too deep. Had I only
a voice that they could hear. But no.
They chose my father instead, and down he fell. He smiled. He waved goodbye with
every limb;
every bough bouncing again and again. Though born a tree; he became
a bridge.
Tomorrow a bowl?
Wherever he is, he is being carved into what he is to
be tomorrow.
Tomorrow...
"Forever" is composed of many tomorrows.
Cut us down, you will in time. But it is not a sad time. For at
every time, we are only once again cut,
carved, and shaped into our next form of
usefulness.
Though the day will come when I am no longer providing shelter for a
bird; perhaps I will instead prove to
be shelter for a fish; maybe I'm to be a
boat for a sailor.
Toss me about up the sea as driftwood; I will be reborn into
perhaps a handy human's work of art.
Leave me alone upon the shore? I will
become the foundation for a sand dune! Even if my destiny
is to simply float
within the water, I lie willing and waiting. Perhaps I will be of service as a
step, a perch;
a harbor for a nesting worm. For beauty we came up from the
earth; for beauty and for service.
Mutable, we are born again and again; and remain willingly ~ our part of life's cycle: Creatures of the Wood.
Creatures of the Wood
photos and text copyright Stephen Martin Oct1st2011