Standing on the beach in North Carolina this evening. Outer banks. Nighttime. Dark. The strong salty air permeates my soul. Everything is shades of dark grays. The waves roar as they break close to shore, immature white caps peak, stretching their energy and water as far as possible over the beach. Then the water gracefully slips back to try again. The sand has long since given up the battle to stand against the relentless water. The sand simply flows with it now, works with it now.
Have I learn to flow with the water of life like the soft sand beneath my feet? Or am I still trying to resist it, trying to make my stand?
Lightening off in the distance over the ocean. Can’t hear any thunder over the crashing waves. Will it come to shore or move out to sea? It does not matter.
The ocean at night has a way of making you feel small, as if you too where a grain of sand. The vastness of it all has a way of stretching you out to infinity, and at the same time squishing you in upon yourself.
There is nothing here for me to do. I cannot cross this ocean. I cannot build or make anything on this beach. The water will simply wash it away. I cannot stop the waves. I cannot move the sand. I cannot control anything. I am helpless. All I can do is be here. Experience the moment. I am left to accept the present moment as pure gift and not doing anything in return.
Within the roar of the ocean, a silence envelopes me. Awe. Wonderment. The only prayer I can utter in my heart is, “Thank You.” All other words lose their power and meaning.
Amidst the chaos of the crashing waves, a gentle peace takes notice from within and begins to seep throughout my being. I am nothing. But I am here. And that makes all the difference.
The water of life ebbs and flows.