Be that piece of ash floating forever on the infinitesimal sea of conformity, for the driftwood overcomes the water and knows the poles, the temperates, and the secrets of Poseidon.  The driftwood rides into an undiscovered lagoon, beguiled by the sea’s desperate attempts to carve and mutilate its outwardly existence.  As the tide goes out, the driftwood lies on the beach and watches the sun set over that self-perpetuating sea.  The sea cannot see its vastness for the sea cannot see perspective.  Without its perspective, the driftwood would be the sea.  The sea knows not of the islands or the lagoons; it only knows of the deltas and the straits.  It will forever be this way because the sea cannot see past its currents and tides.  The driftwood is enlightened to the sea’s existence while the sea will be forever ignorant until it can climb onto shore to watch the sunset.  But the tide now gropes in the darkness and the ash returns to the sea more willfully than ever, for the driftwood will forever overcome the sea.