Milonga !

Once upon a time, there were two seas: Sea1 & Sea2.

They both dwelled in the same corner of a vast ocean.
One worked for Mr. Wind, and the other was in service of Ms. Current.

They were not friends, oh no.

They were eternal adversaries,

locked in ceaseless rivalry,

forever clashing,
wave upon wave,
pushing and pulling

in contradicting directions,
as if each were determined to outdo the other.
To rise higher, grow steeper, prove mightier.

They slapped and surged at each other without pause.

On closer observation of their warlike behaviour, one could conclude that there are many layers to their relationship.

At first glance, it would be reasonable to assume that Mr. Wind pushing East and Ms. Current pulling West create a disturbed clash between both protagonists: Sea1 & Sea2.

But the truth runs deeper.

Their behaviour is not dictated solely by their masters (wind and current), who fluctuate in intensity and direction.

Other forces shape the fray as well:

The underwater profile of the battlefield, namely the compression created in shallower terrain.

The obstacles presented in the form of small islands or big continents, capes, peninsulas, high mountains- any type of landmass conditions the way in which both opponents can operate, sometimes favouring one or the other depending on the specific situation.

Then there is the effect of none other than the sun:
the temperature of the air, of the water, and the difference between them will also have an effect on the seas’ temperament.

Let us not forget the moon.
She who conducts the tide’s slow symphony
as she orbits Earth in silent rhythm, waxing, waning,
tugging at the planet’s broth like a distant goddess with a silver ladle.

There is also atmospheric pressure, the shift of seasons, the weaving of clouds,
and so many other intricate details which will ordain the severity of the fight.

On top of this, as if the chaos were not enough, sometimes
the combat zone presents more than Sea1 and Sea2 as opponents.

Occasionally, a freelance rogue body of water will appear:
one not acting under the command of Mr. Wind or Ms. Current,
but out there for itself.

The unpredictable, anarchic rebel also desires to express itself amidst the kerfuffle:
wild and untethered.

Sometimes it takes more than two to tango.

Sometimes the tango turns into an obscure milonga,
and things get out of control.

Every molecule of water fights against every other.

There is no clear rhythm anymore.

No rational explanation.

No logic.

God is in a bad mood.

And if you don’t believe in God,
but you happen to be floating in a little nutshell
surrounded by angry waves,
you will start believing.

You will discover prayers you didn’t know you could speak,
invoking deities that haven’t even been invented yet.

You will feel small.
Insignificant.
Petty and unimportant.

You will realise that the breath of life you take for granted
can be so easily wiped out by a single sour swirl of the milonga.

And yet, within your finite, mundane flesh,
a timeless instinct will rise.
You will cling to life.
You will ride those water mountains
with strength you didn’t know you had,
and hope that will not drown.