Friday, June 20, 2014

Moonlit ocean and seashell beach

I never knew I wanted to see the ocean lit by moonlight, until I saw it. I couldn't unsee it to save my life. The way the darkened waves wore a wild crown of silver. The siren song that bore its way to the depths of my soul. Come dance among the silver. You can see by my light so it is safe to bound into these darkened waves.
I consider it, truly I do, from the balcony of the rented condo room. Instead I hear my child's sing-song voice calling and I poke my head in to see how far along they are in the bedtime process. Far. Thank God. 
I bound outside again, clutching the iPad with some vague thoughts about updating my very neglected blog, only to discover that the clouds have covered up the moon. The delicious, full moon that had been throwing down silver by the armful. Navy and grey, the ocean now is, and I search in vain for silver. Though the sky gives away that the moon is still there for an arch of lighter blue splays out from where she is hiding. I drink in this ombré sky and think there is something healing about light moving towards dark. Or the other way around.
The ocean song plays constantly. A soprano roar that changes only slightly in pitch as the waves crash in different rhythms. Wild things come from this ocean, of that I am sure. I watch expectantly for the Loch Ness to bound out and start licking it's back like a cat. This deep rest that has settled upon me like a well-chosen cardigan that stretches over me and is snugly-warm, will not be shaken easily. Already I know this. That eventually I will have to check my work email again. Maybe even my personal one as well. But for now.
For now I breath foreign air that has a tinge of salt yet is oddly not dry. I smell the ocean everywhere and begin to think I will smell it always. I hope so at least. I hear the cries and calls of birds that I don't normally hear and with each sound alert me to the different. It is the different that I am noticing full this evening. For the different lets me know who I am in a way I can't quite explain. 
Seeing silver ride upon the water like horses going to battle stirs up inside the me that had gotten beat down in the hardness of daily life. Like my four-year-old son who gets slammed by waist-high waves (that for him hit him at head-level) I keep getting up but the waves keep coming. Yet another problem at work, and yet another relationship that is turning difficult. Splash and slam, again and again. 
My son, with a smile on his face, wades back out. 
This is after some beach time. We had drifted, like one tends to do when the water is going a certain way, you move with the ocean. Every now and then I would look up and see our hotel off to the side and I would decide we would need to right ourselves. To do this we would let the waves carry us back to shore and then we would walk along the beach back to our home spot. Father's Day was coming up and my daughter suggested we gather shells and make a frame for daddy. Naturally I responded enthusiastically and soon both hands were filled with shells. Every now and then I would decide that I wanted to sit and drink some water and read a trashy book (don't judge, it's like eating a bag of chips instead of having a piece of fruit), and my son would grab his shovel and dig while my daughter found shells. 
Then we would trudge back out to the waves. For me they hit about my waist and while I yearned to go further out I had little ones this time so closer in I stayed. My son started punching the waves, and naturally I responded enthusiastically and soon we were all three punching the waves. Of course it didn't stop them. It was truly silly. But it felt so good. To karate chop the impending wall of water, and watch the not insignificant splash fill the air, was healing in a deep way. 
Soon, I will go back to the daily pounding of normal life. The relentless waves will continue, for they always do. But I will go back from this deeply rested place. Like I just lounged on my makeshift tent in the beach, reading my trash, and with a pile of shells at my feet. I will charge forward, into those waves, ready to punch them, ready to lean into them, but most of all- ready to face them.
I rise to stand at the railing and say goodnight to the ocean. It is our last night and we will return to the land-locked city in the morning. The silver returns, albeit just in a narrow streak, like one tendril of silver light escaped from its captor. Goodbye and goodnight you wild silver light. I am warmed by your foreignness. I am filled with your mystery. It is good to go away, for away is where you find yourself most often. And I am a warrior, ready for another round. Bring it on you mighty waves, for I have my fists poised and ready.

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