The Ocean

I brought my book and towel to lay on. I had my shades and water bottle. I was ready to sit and read at the beach. As I was sitting, I started to look at the waves. I watched the white tide in the curvature of the upward motion of the water, I watched how the waves splashed in tiny barrels on the sand. I watched the ocean waves fall down upon each other. I watched them collide. I watched them flow together, seamlessly, effortlessly, randomly.

I thought to myself, “Is this the first time I have ever seen the ocean?”

Why had I never noticed the way that those barrels moved so inconsistently? Why had I never seen the white that looks like liquid marble? Why had I never seen this before?

Sidetrack to an hour before… I am perusing on the good ole’ inter web. I search “Yoga teacher training” and somehow come up on a studio called Rainbow Yoga in L.A. They have a free 30-day mindfulness course. I decide to sign up for it. I watch one of the courses, and the instructor talks about really being wherever you are. That is, not thinking about where you are, or how you feel, or that thing that is pissing you off, but just being where you are.

So today as I sat in the sand, I tried that. I tried to just “be where I was.” 

I heard the ocean’s soothing voice in motion and turbulence. I listened to it. I saw it. I felt connected to it without saying those words aloud.

Each time I had come before, it would be to think deeply about things. To ponder, to remember, to start over, to hurt, to yearn. That is what the ocean had given me. I always needed or wanted something from it. I always wanted it to tell me it would be okay.

I had never come there to just be with the water.

I had never just looked at the waves without giving it some comparison of how life is up and down, it ebbs and it flows. Yes, I’d examined the beauty before. I always thought and admired from afar though.

If I felt terrible, I would see all my woes in the ocean. If I felt hopeful, I would see all the opportunity in each crashing wave. I always used the water as a reflection, as a mirror. I had never come to just see the beauty without imposing all my human, ever-changing feelings upon it.

I had never spoke to the ocean the way that I did today.

At one point, my head told me, “Pull out your book.” I responded, “I don’t want to ruin this.”