Two characters in search of an author

The seaside displays itself as an infinite scene or stage of possible forms of play, exercise, adventure, recreation, sports, browning, swimming, sailing, you name it. “On the seashores of endless worlds, children meet”, as Tagore said. Its a kind of transitional space, where your kind of playing cannot be located definitely. Its neither inside nor outside. And if you think its there, it isn’t really anywhere. That reminds me of A.A. Milne’s rhyme:

"Halfway up the stairs/Isn’t up/And isn’t down/It isn’t in the nursery/It isn’t in the town/And all sorts of funny thoughts/Run round my head/It isn’t really anywhere/It’s somewhere else instead!”

Real play displaces your self into an intermediate space of experience, neither outside the imaginary, nor inside reality, but somewhere in-between the real and the imaginary, halfway in or out, up or down. You can just move between possible worlds, the sand and the surf, the windy and the sheltered, the lazy and the active, the imaginary and the reel. Another name for that “in-between” is “Atopia” or “Arcadia”.

This morning I felt eager to go for an early swim, as bad weather was announced for the afternoon. The surf was not too rough, the wind being moderate. So I could take my time and swim around without any risk or unpleasant cold. I even made some extra dives, emptying my head of remnants of the dreamnight. So renewing, that you can feel reborn for the day leaving the water. One other early walker passed towards the South, firmly stepping, keeping tempo, while I was just drying and dressing myself back for the return way. We nodded smiling.

Walking back I had to see how far the end of the Zandmotor had moved up to the North. And it is indeed astonishing to see the outcome of the joint forces of sea, sand and wind: it is constantly changing. Every change of tide anew. From that turning point, slowly walking over the beach I saw a young “pair”, standing as frozen statues alongside a small laguna-canal.

Their immobile attitudes drew my attention. The young woman expressing some kind of self protecting “don’t touch me” gesture. As I passed by, discretely showing attention, the young man defensively said: “just rehearsing a play-scene!”. “A marvellous theater to play in”, I answered, looking if I could see her eyes. But she kept completely stiffened, turned inward.

Later on, cycling home on the dunes, they were still standing on the same spot. And shortly after I took this photo, she ran away. He followed her. I turned my bike and left those two characters at the seaside in search of an author. Curtain.