At the
shore, beachcombers flirt with rolling waves. Using buckets, shovels, whatever
implements they can bend to their will, children build with singular urgency. In the background, tall hotels in gaudy pastels punctuate ribbons of pavement. Runners, cyclists and tourists weave through the boardwalk where we will buy
ice cream later. It is a lively place, this beach; the myriad agendas of a
myriad hominids are pursued.
But in
front of me is the horizon. Sky and earth meet. The line they form underscores
the absence of anything I am familiar with. Again, why am I here? At first I
am afraid. Death comes to mind. This egoic pursuit will scar my children with
motherlessness. But as I notice what is around me, I relax.
I am
immersed, literally, in a place wholly, fully alive. Sky and sea stretch vast
and endless. Murky turquoise currents roil and surge. Otherwise, it is quiet.
But the air feels different, almost palpable with the featherweight of birdsong
and kernels of weather patterns orbiting to shore. Unseen beings glide below me
pursuing their own myriad agendas. I am awed
by the sheer Otherness of what is around, above, before and below me.
Who am I in
the presence of such wonder?
Monkey mind calms with this question, the soul
need within us each. I am acutely aware of how fragile and vulnerable I am. But I am also acutely
alive, present and peaceful. Tears sting my eyes. Here is church, temple,
synagogue, the open hand of grace.
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