On many occasions I have walked upon the sidewalk only to be somehow carried to the water’s edge and to the Atlantic portal near my home. As I gaze out into the vastness of the ocean, I can imagine a world of possibility. I silently ask, what lies beyond the horizon? Where does this Ocean go? Who is out there – and are they like me? And then, the worries, fear and heaviness that I have carried to the beach begin to be washed and carried away like magic by the moon or sun, salty breeze and rhythmic waves pounding gently on the shore –
In minutes, not days or weeks, my problems seem to dissipate like clouds – swiftly moving – moving – moving – and a lightness comes to me once more. Why? I do not know. Perhaps it is because I pale in comparison to the vastness of the Universes to which I belong; just like the grains of sand on the beach that spread out like a brilliant starlit sky.
I must surrender to All That Is and the bigger possibility of what lies before me – the unknown – as I sit in the softness of the warm sand staring out at the sea or walk upon the wet sand enjoying the waves splashing joy without concern to me. Or collecting shells; ah those beautiful tiny shells. Or sometimes at night, the moon lit sky, lost in thought or the no-thing, knowing that eternity lies somewhere out of time just like the far away shore of somewhere new that my psyche has yet to explore. What peace it brings . . . clear, blue, beautiful, ocean, like a timekeeper with each new wave – my place of peace – knowing my future rests upon those waves of possibility – and that gentle patient reminder, I must trust.
And, when I walk the short distance home – I feel much better. Nothing has changed yet everything has changed. And when again I feel sad, worried or wounded – I tread upon the sand and once again, and am refreshed by our great Mother – maybe it is Gaia who envelopes me in her arms? – because I always return somehow comforted by the waves (of peace) the Sunlight (of hope) and the trust (of God) that everything will be fine – once again.
— Cathrine Silver