I close my eyes, head turned into the sun, ocean around my toes, the salt filled breeze gently brushing my hair from my face - home at last.
With sand covering my toes and shells in my pocket, I feel grounded. My place in the world seems clear, any struggle washing away in the waves. There is a freedom, a magic in knowing where you belong. Each step on the beach a step toward liberation of the soul, of the self. Brazen and comfortable, fierce and secure, content where I am as the salt water dissipates around my ankles.
I cannot describe adequately how deeply I am at home amongst the waves. That call you hear inside a shell? It's not just the ocean or an echo, it is my name. Over and over again, it whispers to me, for me. There is nothing better than being on the water, enveloped by salt and wind, worked down to who I truly am: realized consciousness of the Universe, stars and salt and effort.
And the call isn't out there at all, it's inside me.
It moves through the chambers of my heart again and again, the reverberations traveling through my body in time with the waves until I am overcome. Beneath the surface is where I truly come alive. I was born of time and pressure and the steady rock of the ocean current. Belonging to the tides and the undertow, I am always changing. My moods run wild, but there is a constant draw to the ebb and flow of them, a purpose to the madness.
I know there isn't much sense in what I say, but there is so much in life that is nonsensical. We have a choice to reject it or to embrace it. And oh! when we embrace it. Holding it tightly, but without pressure, delighting in the passing whimsical that is our very existence. This is the ocean. This is freedom and truth, worked out through the sun and salt over time and heartache, like so many things. Perhaps like all things.