I wish I could have eaten the day. Fluffy marshmallow clouds.. Cerulean blueberry sky. Sand the color of creamy caramel, and the foam of the breaking waves like the perfect topper to a steaming hot latte. All the flavors and textures blending perfectly in my stomach, filling me, feeding me and nurturing me.
I am walking. Strolling, really. Watching the sea. Splashing my feet in it. Smelling the salt, letting it permeate my nostrils. A little chant echoes in my head. Water. Waves, Women. Water. Waves. Women. I wondered where it came from.
Right then, a giant wave crashed right in front of me. As the water made its way back to its home, I noticed that it had forged a crevice in the sand. An opening where just a second before there had been none. The water found its way there easily, effortlessly. It did not struggle to find the crevice, or worry that it would not be there. It just did what water does. It flowed.
Ok, I thought, I get it now. I get the chant. We are that water. Powerful. Transformative. Bringing beauty from barrenness. Shapeshifting. Fluid. We have the gifts of creation and destruction in us. We are the the swirling, pulsing, burgeoning, swelling, rising, crashing unleashed, unrestrained, primal surf. We can soften and harden, give and receive. We can be unrelenting and forgiving, embracing and retreating. All at once we are dissolving yet foundational, formless yet unyielding. The duality of the sea is ours. We sing the song of the ocean. It is carried on the wind to others who yearn to hear its beauty.
I saw fish swimming and crabs scuttling in tide pools. Seaweed brushed against my leg. There is life happening just underneath the surface, barely visible unless you are on the hunt for it. Which we are. Or would do well to be. Because that underbelly is what sustains us. It’s what beckons us to give birth to things, to surface our ideas, our convicted knowings, our intuition, our grand visions and dreams. We are like the sand and the shells on the ocean floor, getting tossed, rolled and stirred up.
This time in submersion is our incubation. Our seeds have been germinated and they are growing. Our embryos are forming, shaping. All there is for us to do in this space is surrender to the tossing. That’s it. We can’t rush it. It’s our cyclical nature. We build momentum, we rise, we peak, we get spent and we go inward, underneath. The introspection, the turning in toward ourselves is not laziness or complacency. It’s restorative. And absolutely necessary. We are being prepared.
We are being shown how to take our still water and set it in motion. To turn into a powerful wave that will spread far and wide. Sometimes our waves will caress us tenderly and bring soothing to our souls. Other times, they will destroy everything in our path because that is what is called for in that moment. Trust the rhythms of your internal ocean.
Clouds appeared in the distance and cut through the endless blue as I made my way back down the shore. The wind picked up, thunder rumbled and the surf churned to announce the upcoming strong weather.
As I saw a bolt of lightning streak across the sky, it occurred to me that the sea does not apologize for her storms.
And neither should we.