It was the ocean that did it, that day. The seducing curves of the waves and the spewed tickles it sent welcoming the spirit in. That was what did it, the ocean that is.
Atop the sun warmed boulder, toes aimed at the roiling sky sighting their targeted destination, arms limp against the stone opened wide enough to hold the sky. Seagulls cried warning and came pecking at the body, raising frustration and curses from the flesh till they gave up their selfish rescue.
Black and gold flecks danced against the smooth sands, a cuff and collar of lace to the earth. It was the ocean, gilding a gift to it's lover. Still the spirit waited, stilled the body to acceptance, dragged the heart into recognition.
It was the ocean, flinging tears at the flesh; resentment, death, pain, anguish, and life. The body was lifted from the high stone, taken into the tears, but the spirit thanked it for its grace, believed in its forgiveness. But it raged and the spirit was lost to itself. The ocean's frothy claws gripped the body, dragging it into itself. It swallowed and gargled and chewed it with teeth, then spit the spirit back out.
The spirit slowly woke bathed in a red morning sky, the ocean lapping at it gently and blowing kisses till it rose. Confused it listened to the ocean whisper its name. Forgiveness it had been and cleansing that followed for the soul to wake free. It was the ocean that did it. That day.