Where the Land Ends

I’ve grown up next to the ocean and I’ve seen the place where land ends many times, but I’ve rarely wished for just one more day. Many times I’ve crossed the threshold of shore and sea, yet I never realized that my perception the ocean’s steady sameness is a lie. The ocean is change: it shapes the land; it’s never ceasing; it’s always moving, and while it’s constant, it’s a constant newness. You can’t step into the same ocean twice. The irony of the ocean’s consistency is that it’s always changing, allowing nature to make it new and making nature new in turn.The salt scrubs and soothes as it seeps deeper into my skin. I lie flat on my back, allowing the waves to push me around a bit, occasionally jolting me from the deep blue trance. Here I am, at the world’s edge for the umpteenth time. I relish it for once. I sink my ears into the sumptuous water and tilt my chin to the sun. I close my eyes and give thanks.

Now I am all here. I am present in the moment. I am noticing every minute detail, the way my toes curl in soft sand, the way my fingers filter the water between them, the tiny sea weed flowers that float to the surface, the silver specks of fish jumping in the distance.

I’ve never done that before; I’ve never noticed these things. I’ve never thought that the frothy waves remind me of foamy cappuccino or how the water is so blue that it melds with green and miraculously becomes blue again.

For the first time in months, I am content. I have learned to see and feel and hear all over again. All I needed was a reminder that the ocean is ever constant, never ceasing, ever new, never stagnant, ever alive, never stopping : just as I should be living.

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