This is a painting on my wall. It comes from northernmost Nepal. The sea is tears and rain and spit and sweat from the watchtowers of the West. Home of Jörmungandr and Ran and Aegir and Neptune; behemoths from the beginning of things, that move in secret under the floorboards of the sky. West meets fiery South to become the breath of the East. The urn will catch the sea but never own it; Aquarius can only carry it for a time, like tarot's Star, like Saint Chris ferrying Jesus across the currents. To walk on water, cold feet are required.