The ocean

Calm and deep, with a restless horizon and a silence older than language. We gaze at it — and feel: beyond that line of water lies something more than memory. The past. It stirs beneath the skin like a tide, returns like a lunar cycle, and whispers: Remember. Accept. Let go.

Modern psychotherapy tells us: to move forward, we must first go back. Not to get stuck — but to recognize where we’ve frozen. Carl Jung called this the “process of individuation” — returning to oneself by acknowledging the shadow. We cannot erase trauma, loss, or pain. But we can name them. See them. Feel them. And through that, find release.

Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.

— Carl Gustav Jung

The past is not the enemy, but a teacher. It reveals where it hurts, and why we repeat the same patterns. Like seawater, it purifies — if we stop resisting the wave. Now — another perspective, timeless and vast. In Buddhism and esoteric traditions, the past is not in opposition to the present. It is an essential part of the path chosen by the soul before incarnation. Karma is not punishment, but a chain of lessons. Every person, every situation, even every wound — a link in the chain of awakening. The Tibetan Book of the Dead tells us:

Liberation comes when the mind recognizes its true nature.

If we view the past not as a prison, but as a map, we begin to see: nothing happened by chance. We are both the director and the actor. Not a victim — but a traveler through eternity. Imagine the soul as a ship. The past — the waves and depths it sails through. Sometimes still, sometimes stormy. But every storm leaves a trace with meaning. Every scar of the sea is a potential compass.

Salvador Dalí once said:

The past and future are only real insofar as they exist in the present.

And it’s true: we carry everything within us. The wounds, the joys, the choices. But if we see them not as burdens, but as the fabric of fate — then healing arrives gently, like the morning tide.

In a world where the ocean speaks to the sky, and clouds carry the faces of the departed, the past becomes alive. It visits in dreams, hides in the scent of salt on skin, watches us through a stranger’s eyes.

And suddenly, you understand: there’s no need to fight. Only to listen. Because within the depths of memory sleeps the part of you that once was lost.

And if you stand at the water’s edge, watching the sunset without turning away from the shadows, perhaps you will hear a voice, whispering:

You don’t have to forget. But you may go on.