The sheltering sky, or the sneaky return of the undertow

Do you ever feel like you are just living this very small, pointless life? And you don't know what to do about it?

It's been a while since I've felt the undertow. And, in contrast to times prior, I'm not in an "I'm going to die alone" spot. And that's part of what bothers me so much - I'm actually really happy.

I just have these moments absolutely beyond my control.

I'll be going along, all forward motion and unsuspecting. La la la la la.

And then suddenly, this wet enormity of despair and pointlessness will sneak up from behind and wash over me. It's quick, cold, and dark, and all-encompassing.

It will pull, hard, and it will cover me, sometimes thickly enough that it really is akin to being stuck beneath the waves, panicked, unsure when I will burst through the surface and breathe.

And then it pulls back, and I do - I breathe, I see the sky, and the sun sparkles on the surface.

But still, as it recedes, I'll feel the wet reverberations of nothing-matters nothing-matters does-any-of-this-really-matter? lapping at my ankles, pulling at the ground beneath me. Does it? Really? Really?

And I'm left unsure of what's solid and where to stand, in the same way one is forced to balance and rebalance in the ebbing tide, as when the ocean sucks the shifting sand beneath your feet on its way out.