On an island off the coast of Brittany in springtime, at midnight, I found myself drawn toward the sea by the visceral symphony of wind and waves. Since the death of my partner, my heart had remained dark and heavy, a stagnant pool of sorrow. Standing there in the darkness, I gazed intently at the waves crashing onto the shore—ceaselessly changing shape, lapping and tumbling, as if they sought to break something within the stillness. As I watched, I began to feel the waves erasing the sadness from my heart. Almost unconsciously, I became immersed in photographing the water. This journey, which began in mourning, transformed into a spiritual pilgrimage—a quest to connect with an infinite world. In these images, the whole explodes into individual fragments, only for those parts to return to the whole once more. The present moment expands into eternity, while eternity collapses back into the present. It is a state of "waking drunkenness"—a repetitive, meditative cycle that dissolves the boundary between the self and the vastness of the sea. Through this lens, the act of seeing becomes an act of healing.