The ocean puts me to sleep. It’s amazing. I have plans to do so many things each time I drive over, but as soon as I hit the sea air and hear the gentle roar of the waves I collapse into a complete letting go. It’s as if someone put a sleeping potion in my afternoon tea. My eyes get heavy. My breathing moves to the root of my belly, and my resolve crumbles. What a lovely thing this ocean mother is. Each time I land in her lap she cradles my spirit, insisting I rest, rejuvenate and restore.
The ocean is busy today, not at all like my usual hide-away. It’s Sunday in late July, which is prime vacation time. I watch legions of tourists migrating with kites, shovels, deck chairs, good books and broad open smiles. The sky is cloud covered and cool, but they don’t care. They are making memories. They swim in frigid water, build castles, pick up stones and roast marshmallows around open fires. I watch, like being at the movies, then take a long brisk walk.
A tall slender man in a wet suit drips back to shore. The clouds are low so he is dreamlike, emerging from both water and haze. His hair is black, like his suit, and his spirit seems generous and free. He clearly loves what he’s doing and has come to collect his young daughter, so she can learn to love it too. She’s about three years of age and has long streams of blond hair running down her back. He gathers her gently in his arms, knowing she is uncertain, then walks into the sea, the way Stevie Wonder walks to the piano. He owns it. I stop walking and watch, curious to see how he’ll share his pleasure. After a few yards he puts her belly down on the board, holding her steady as she looks into his eyes for courage. When a wave comes, she sails to shore in a smooth effortless ride, her father moving proudly by her side.
The beauty of this day does not escape me. The simple splendor is plentiful and abundant. Nature is such a pure canvas. It takes me back to my center like nothing else, and reminds me that we are all just specks of sand in a limitless universe.