Beach

“Sh” said the water on the sand.

My frustration feeds the fishes, I tried to tell myself. Like a plant giving off oxygen as its waste product, I was hoping that my emotional sludge and needling concerns would be soul food for a sea cucumber or needle fish. Instead, all I could picture were fingers of electricity zipping out from my supercharged skin and zapping the chilly creatures in the saline water. I should see bodies floating up.

I stopped the negative visualization and tried again to focus on draining my stress, my fears, and my anger into the sandy bottom of the sea.

The horizon, the strata of vog and clouds, sundown and water’s edge, sea break and tide pool looked like a slice of grey lasagne. There was beauty in the grundginess of the scene, a tropical austerity.

For the fishes, I crumbled my sorrow and unrelenting grief. I served up all the self pity I could find, but I forgot where I tucked away much of it. I laid out more fear and let confusion flake from me into the drink.

I sigh, my shoulders relax, and some sharpness around my ideas starts to soften in the water. What if my expectations are creating this distress? My life in this moment, right now, is beautiful. Remember?

The heavy liquid of warm sea water presses in on my calves, licks behind my knees. I step out of the water back onto the sand, feeling the viscous liquid reluctantly release me. Warm breezes chill past my wet legs. The top of the sand is evening cool, but as I burrow my feet into the gritty velvet, stored heat from the day kisses my toes. Of course. I remember. I am loved! I am not thinking specifically of my beloved or pets or friends but of something that loves me, for which I have no name. I’ll call it me. Why not? Or it can be you, if you prefer. Calling it The Nameless sounds silly because, well, it is nameless.

Perhaps it was time to head home. This was the end of my work day, a transition and decompression at the beach to let the dog run. I still had things to do.

“Sh” said the water on the sand.

I wiggle my feet out from their sandy nest and wade back into the water. The dog, glad to see that I am still at it, barrels in after me. He sits down in the tide pool, his tail and body slightly rocking with each surge, and looks out on the horizon.

I let him be. He lets me be. At the beach, we be.