An Ocean without Memory

“Tell you where I’d go. Ziahuatanejo…a little place right on the Pacific. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory….”

 

So, the protagonist, Andy (played by Tim Robbins), tells the narrator, Red (played by Morgan Freeman), in the movie Shawshank Redemption. Although I have seen the movie countless times since it came out in the 90s, it was while I was a teenager in medical school, that it charmed me completely. Perhaps it was the concept of freedom and justice that connected with the younger socially driven individual within?

Later in life, as an adult, the above conversation between Andy and Red as well as the ending of the movie remained with me. The last scene in particular was etched in my mind; where Red walks across the sand on a pristine beach along the Pacific towards his friend Andy, who is fixing a boat. For years on end I wondered how an ocean could have no memory. Fast forward to today and the reason for writing this essay: I managed to find my own answer to this conundrum.

The epiphany occurred after a week-long trip on a self-enforced vacation of sorts. Of sorts because in today’s uber-connected world one takes his / her work along on vacation, and for me it was no different. Regardless of the ‘work vacation’, I’m glad that I did go through with it.

The vacation was on a yacht that took me and my 8 companions (including the 3-membered crew) along Turkey’s coastline, hopping from one island or peninsula to another. The ocean was not the Pacific. Nor was it an ocean to be precise. But the Mediterranean Sea. Semantics aside, the journey was potent enough to detach myself from the daily grind and just focus on ‘self’. While there weren’t many soul-searching walks on the various beaches we stopped at, they weren’t really required, because just the backdrop of the Mediterranean was sufficient to invoke the mind. I let my imagination run amok. While kayaking I was the sole mariner, the captain specifically, of the yacht that had capsized. Marooned at sea, I was looking for solid ground that was not overrun by savages or predatory animals. 

While swimming I became one with the fish - sharing the crystal blue Mediterranean with a diversity of them, albeit they were much better swimmers than I. At nighttime, it was fun imagining being one with the cosmos above – the stars or the almost full moon - reflecting luminescence onto the waves below. Very briefly during the daytime, I also imagined becoming the yacht - how it felt to rock or sway gently or harshly in submission to the vagaries of the sea. 

I think the least amount of time I spent was being myself, on the boat while it was docked at any number of bays or lagoons, over the course of the week. And just being myself, I would listen to the incessant ensemble of the chirping crickets within the trees and the waves gently lapping against the rocks.

Through all of the above, my memories of confounding pasts or uncertain futures were overcome. Perhaps transcended. And thus, all there was to focus on was this moment.

How can an ocean have no memory?

With a mindset - as of this very moment - I think, Andy used the above as metaphor for timelessness. Forgetting the past and future, and just being in the moment, at the Pacific was perhaps Andy’s way of lifelong redemption. Maybe my trip this summer to the Mediterranean will also redeem me in ways I cannot fathom as yet. 

[from Rambling of an Itinerant]

Acknowledgment: First published by the Express Tribune. This blog is an early version of the story 'Mehmet' from 'journey of an itinerant observer'.       

DISCLAIMER: Copyright belongs to the author. This blog cannot be held responsible for events bearing overt resemblance to any actual occurrences.