Cool, whipping wind. A light spattering of rain. The sound of birds and the sea. Salt and pine.

You bring your hand up underneath your nose, the sap still sticky on your fingers, and inhale the scent as you mimic a pinching gesture and enjoy the feeling of your fingers sticking together and pulling apart.

Breathe deeply, lungs full of salt water. Exhale your Self into the fray to mingle among the waves.

Distant sun peaking through chaotic clouds. Deep grays and bright, wispy whites curling at the edges, churning into vapor, skittering across the sky at speeds that makes it seem like you could reach right up and brush the tips of your fingers along the bottom as they fly overhead. A hint of bright blue showing through here and there.

The sea churns, spraying foam. You hear the sound of a thousand tiny bubbles popping in unison…

CRASHHH! tsssssssssssss...

Whipping wind just cold enough to remind you that you have skin.

Here, at the edge of the world, time stands still. All moments past, present, and future coalesce and condense into one. They are all the same, all happening at once. The person holding your hand changes. The name of the beach changes. You change. You flit back and forth through time, each time a different person but it is always You. Somehow.

What falls from the sky and churns at your feet are the same hydrogen and oxygen that help animate your body, filled with particles formed in the heart of a star infinity years ago, changed form, given and taken energy, electrons rearranged, but all the same. Just like you.

Past and future are just concepts. Words in a book. Sounds that come off of the tip of your tongue. “Now” is irrelevant.

CRASHHH! tsssssssssssss…

The yelping of hungry gulls calling out to one another on waves of wind pulls you from your infinite moment and time begins to unfurl and flatten once again. The secret truths of the universe sink slowly back into the cracks to occupy the space between atoms, infinitely patient, cold, and uncaring.

And when you are done using your body, when the cells and molecules that make up you cease to be “I” and change once again for the nth time into something else, the secret truths shall remain.

Wet sand crunches quietly underfoot — stones become pebbles become grains. A gust of wind wraps around you and you plunge cold hands into coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the assault. The necessities of being assert themselves once again and the moment falls away even farther.

Here, at the end of the world, you are.

Turn yourself bravely towards the Truth. Fall into the cracks between worlds.