Words or pictures? I have both. I have observations and thoughts. I have anecdotes and memories. I have moments of incredible heart, of epiphany, of transcendent serenity and wholeness, of unexpected tears. My day at the beach was an important day of self-care, characterized by free will, and pure experience of undefined identity; seeing those words in text I find myself doubting they can be ‘understood’. Sort of a ‘you had to be there’ thing, perhaps – but maybe you have been there?
Dawn came before I departed. I left my devices behind, except my smart-phone, which I shut down and put away. I reached my downtown transfer point and realized that stopping for a coffee was suddenly a bit risky – how would I know the time?? I dispelled the moment of panic with laughter, remembering how many watches I used to own, and how incredibly tied to time I once was, long ago. My recollection was that the ‘local drugstore’ would have cheap watches… up and down the aisles, no luck… the man at the counter, when asked, pointed a surly finger toward a lonely small carousel of reasonably priced time pieces. I grabbed a simple one that did not offend my eye and went on my way, finding myself actually quite delighted with its simplicity, and my freedom.
The bus trip was quite pleasant, and at this time of year predictably uncrowded. I spent the time in meditation, and found myself enveloped in the warmth of my own real regard and compassion for my experience, soothed and loved and feeling very safe. I arrived at my destination and felt as if I stepped off the bus into a new world; I was at the beach, and on my own.
Like a whisper, a horizon more implied than visible.
I found the misty, foggy morning quite appropriate to my mood and my mission; to take on the day fully mindfully, to spend it in meditation and consideration of ‘where I am and where I am going’, and to use the solo time to take care of me. The gray sky blotted out the prominent local features on the coastline: the large rocks, the lighthouse, hotels and houses along the shore in the distance. There were a small handful of people along the beach, and plentiful footprints in the sand to remind me that no one of us is every truly alone.
…and I walked…
As if every morning’s commute and every evening’s return home were in preparation for this, I walked along the beach in silent contemplation and soft awe. I walked the beach up and down from where Ecola Creek pours into the sea, to a place called Silver Point, a couple of times over the course of the day. The map gives the impression the distance between those points is about 3 miles, when I look at it now, but at the time I had no sense of distance.
As seen on a map, ‘my beach’ on this day.
As the day unfolded, the mist began to lift (in the late afternoon it would even be sunny and clear). The pictures reconnect me to my thoughts in-the-moment. I have long counted on pictures to do that for me.
As the mist lifts…
…and I continue to walk…
…the looming dark features of Haystack Rock are revealed.
The day was more than the sum of my pictures, though, and as I walked, I observed the waves crashing in, on the shore, and the understandings evolving within as well. I was open to my own heart, my own understanding, and feeling myself awaken as I walked on.
I took a seat on a big driftwood log for a time, to meditate, and breath deep of the sea breezes.
This guy joined me for a while, just standing there, next to me, gazing out to the sea with me.
Watching the waves crash in, one by one. Hearing the sounds and feeling the grandeur of it.
…Watching…observing my own thoughts as waves, themselves…
…one after another…peace and contentment settling in.
The waves gave the appearance of surging forth directly from the sky, or the horizon. Rested, I resumed my walking, and began to consider things; applying new understanding to old hurts, testing time-worn assumptions that have not served me well, nurturing my will and my intention – and my good heart.
The tide recedes, as tides do; forces of nature are difficult to deny.
I realize I am hungry. A bite of lunch becomes more than an intention, it becomes a plan. I walk up from the beach to the street above via a beautiful staircase, chuckling at the tsunami route warning sign. Realistically, if I had to run up those stairs to be safe from a tsunami, I would probably drop dead from the effort before reaching the goal; I am not yet quite that fit, and running up a long staircase doesn’t sound likely to ‘save my life’. lol
Sometimes getting from ‘here’ to ‘there’ requires a climb.
A bite of lunch and a cup of tea later, and I headed back to the beach. The sun had broken through the morning fog, and the landscape had changed.
Changed by the afternoon sun.
I found a staircase down to the beach; an unlikely surprise, itself, whimsically mysterious.
Strangely mysterious…
…I descend…
…the descent becomes a gentle meditation of its own…
…a metaphor about journeys and transitions… and becoming.
I look back from the beach, and as with so many mysteries, it seems to have disappeared.
I repeated the journey of the morning, up and down the beach, returning to the joy and moments of unexpected emotional depth as I walked.
The day continued, and evolved. I met people, and spoke only honest heartfelt words. I shared myself freely. I met love, in person; she was grieving her loss with grace. I met terror and rage wearing some face other than my own, but contained within a heart that knows some of the pain I know, myself, and in our meeting there was calm and healing. I watched children play in tide pools, utterly without fear. I spoke with artisans and artists who were also war veterans, and I met aged beatniks, who had lived, loved, and played with great heroes of intellect of another time. I heard words spoken that were worth hearing. I saw great beauty, both natural and crafted, and I felt healing happening within myself – because I allowed it, and accepted it. It was a tremendous day. There are so many more pictures… so many more words. The thing is, though…
I can share a picture of an object of great beauty…
…or a photograph of a moment of inspiration…
…I can share my experience in great detail…
…or consider it in the context of much bigger things…
…but I am having my own experience, and walking my own path.
I can only share with you as much as you are open to, and not a word of it, not a single image, has more value than you take from it, yourself, by choice. It isn’t about ‘being right’ or convincing, or persuading.
There’s still so much to feel, to experience, to choose or not choose. But…
A walk on the beach doesn’t last ‘forever’, however timeless it feels.
Evening did eventually call to me.
I take a last look at the beach.
The wait for the bus heading home was interesting on its own. I shared the time and space with a woman, probably about my age, and it was a strange happenstance. A sort of fun house mirror of selves staring back at each other across a strange gulf in values, and mismatched appearances. Me, the middle-class looking middle-aged woman in a beige trench coat over a practical black hoodie, emblazoned with the name of my corporate overlord, and she, more timeless, yet strangely stern of visage, wearing the uniform of hippies and flower-children, with just the most vague hint of affluence peeking round the edges and seams; we surprised each other. Our conversation lead here and there and ended with an understanding that we were not at all who we appeared to be. Me, the seeker, the student, a work in progress, a kitten in a strange house… She, convinced, certain, unyielding, and subtly disapproving. That’s okay with me; I already knew how deceiving appearances can be.
The night bus ride was uneventful and quiet. I was tired, and eager to be home. I wanted more than anything at that moment to be welcomed home into the warmth and light of home and heart by my loves, imagining them to be eager to hang on my every excited word. After a day alone I yearned for intimacy and connection, feeling very much like I would somehow be so much better at it for having had the day at the beach…
I arrived home, tired. The house was quiet. One partner awake to greet me, another lost in sleep and dreams. A pleasant enough homecoming, although truly I was too tired by that time for any real enthusiasm for it, and more emotional than I realized. My TBI occasionally fucks me over on those sorts of moments, happening as they often do at the end of an arduous or tiring experience, or simply a very long day. My fatigue results in more volatility, less understanding, more confusion, less resilience. It was time to rest. I’m grateful that I have partners who understand. First one, then the other (who had wakened to greet me), slipped off to bed and I was again… alone. I gave in to exhaustion, hormones, and emotion, and quietly wept for a while, not really understanding why, and not finding any real need to investigate or inquire. They were harmless tears, heartfelt tears, gentle tears, that told only of fatigue and tender humanity, and no great despair or pain. I felt clean and whole, and simply capable of feeling powerful emotions, beyond what I could contain, and so, they spilled out from my eyes, slipping down my cheeks, past the smile that sill lingered from the power of the day.
That’s really it… my day at the beach. I’m still turning it over in my thoughts, finding my way to greater understanding, cherishing the moments. I doubt my words or pictures have any hope of doing the experience real justice. I’m okay with that. You are having your own experience, too, and you will find meaning where you do, and take it as having value if you will, and if it serves you. I’m delighted with this morning, with the writing, with looking again and again at all the pictures; choosing just the right ones to share.
Today is quiet. The house is sleeping. I woke, unexpectedly, ahead of my alarm clock – which wasn’t turned on at all. lol. The dawn unfolded unnoticed as I wrote, content within my own thoughts. My latte grew cold. It is the weekend, and for me, the end of that – tomorrow is a work day, and today is committed in advance to making ready for another week. Whatever the day holds, I hope to find contentment, and to treat myself and others well, with consideration, kindness, and compassion. They are also having their own experience.
Today I hope to choose wisely, to love well, and to build rather than to destroy. 😀
Evening Light 