There is nothing more healing and calming to the soul than the sound of the waves hitting the sand. Nature’s melody.
I listened to the waves and felt myself enter a meditative state of mind and soul as I watched the seagulls circling above, their beaks opening in silent cries.
Vicious birds. If I didn’t know better, I would think that they were vultures by the way that they act sometimes. A few of them had converged on a just-vacated spot in search of food left behind by humans, and I had watched one snap at another, which moved away, cowering in fear. Bully.
These birds have either gotten lazy, gotten used to people leaving things behind, or there really is no food in these oceans. And all of these are a problem. I’m not quite fond of the birds attempting to swoop down on me while I stood eating a sandwich earlier in the day. I only managed to avoid having them collide with my head, not because I heard them coming, but because I saw their shadows on the sand.
The seagulls kept on crying, and I turned to the only thing that I can hear at the beach, beyond the human voices surrounding me in some unclear cacophony of words, and languages. I never bring my hearing aids to the beach, as the sand, the water, the sun, the sun lotion, and the humid air won’t do wonders for these pieces of plastic. So the only thing I can hear with any real clarity is the waves hitting the sand.
KAATCHSHSH. The wave hits the shore and recedes for yet another attempt. KAATCHSHSH.
For a moment, I felt the ocean calling to me, and wished that I could be a mermaid. I never understood why Ariel left the ocean for land; it’s so beautiful down there. I know because I’ve seen it–the way that the fish hide in the seaweeds, the way that the starfish float in the water, the green, growing seaweeds looking like tall grass. What I would do to be part of that world.
I entered the water, first cold, but quickly warming up, and let the waves wash over me. I felt the way the stress just melted out of my cells, while every wave massaged my back. I entered in deeper, going under and over the waves–some were big and powerful, pulling me back towards the shore. I let them. And then I went back out into the deeper water anyways. I felt calm and relaxation seep in. The water does that to me.
I lay out on my back, and the world goes completely quiet. Sound supposedly travels faster in water, but I hear absolutely nothing. I let the waves bounce me around, splashing on my face, pulling me under before pushing me back out to the surface.
People say that the ocean is dangerous; that tides can suck you up and pull you out to sea, and that sharks can eat you up. It can destroy homes and livelihoods. It’s true. But I’ve never felt that way about the water. I don’t understand the logic of being afraid of one of nature’s majestic and powerful creations–one that we need to survive. I respect the water for its power to do many things, but I also trust it to take care of me.
And while I may not have the pleasure of hearing many things in my life, I am glad that I can still hear “the way the ocean refuses to kiss the shoreline, no matter how many times it is sent away,” as Sarah Kay (an author) had so very nicely said.
I see a big wave coming, so I begin to swim, and then feel the wave take me and propel me forward to the shore.
KAAATCHSHSH. The wave hits the shore.
Until next time.