It’s true. I’m having withdrawals. It only happens about every two, or three months.
But they are here and I’m struggling.
The ocean is calling me. I can tell. If I see a picture of the ocean, or glimpse a postcard of a sea shanty, and it creates a feeling of a hollow in my chest. And I feel tears try to push out, I know. I must go to the beach.
I need to walk the shores at sunrise; to search for the treasures that the sea deposits at high tide. The sand glistens with polished glass. I love picking up the smooth emerald green pebbles, and frosted white stones, the rare blue pieces mimic India sapphires, but ah...the purple is the Hope diamond of the sea’s confetti.
It’s time! It’s time now for me to shuffle through the sand close to the rocky areas; to sit by the tide pools that greet me in the morning. I need to watch the anemones and hermit crabs. The beautiful spider stars and granddaddy stars clinging to the rocks are an astounding display of strength as they experience their daily storms. Massive waves seek to peel them off and they are unmoved. They remind me that even though the waves of life crash against me, and I can remain sure and steadfast if I cling to the Rock…and the promises of my God.
The sun lifts the misty gray veil from the face of the ocean. The waves constantly change the calligraphy of the sand, and the arrangement of the seashells. They add to and pull from the shore. Nothing is ever the same. Yet, there is a constancy of the sea that offers serenity.
My soul is seeking that serenity.
I need to walk the shores at noon, and feel the spray on my face, and hear the cry of the grey gulls as they swirl and dip looking for morsels left, or mussels strewn by the tide. I need to walk for hours and miles as the sea breeze clears my mind. The noise of the world stops and I can hear God speaking to me clearly.
Food isn’t necessary, only the sound of the waters, the wind against my warm skin, and the scattering of God’s seashell collection…some, I imagine, from hundreds of miles away, perhaps romantic ports-of-call. Piles of kelp hiding delicate sea fans and artistically configured driftwood create the collage I walk through. I will play tag with the tide. If I get tired, I will sit in the sand and let the white foam refresh my feet and my heart as I dream through the rest of the day.
But I need to walk the shores at sunset. To see the sun sink into the ocean, and strike the sky with neon abstracts. I want to see the wind-surfers slice the waters with rainbow colored sails…an on-the-surface ballet of boats. It is the finish of my beach entertainment, and I am content.
However, I need to walk the shores at evening to watch the moonlight turn the white foam into fluorescent ruffles, which appear just before the waves crash like tympanies signalling the end of a musical extravaganza. I will stand to watch Orion tread among the golden stars. I will stare and dream and pray. I will sing out loud and applaud God’s beauty. I may dance.
I must come to the quiet…It’s been too long. I need to be at the beach. I am having withdrawals.