The Ocean

I stand on the edge of a vast ocean.

The only sound that I hear is the gentle lapping of waves on the shore. A soft ocean breeze raises goosebumps on my exposed forearms. I make no move to pull down my sweatshirt sleeves.

The moon is full and beautiful above the vast expanse of water, bringing it's cool reflection down to gracefully alight on top of every wave. The sand is soft between my toes, which I wiggle a little more to sink in – I'm seeking a sense of rootedness.

My mind is heavy with questions. Just twenty minutes before, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, my mind racing. Although it was early in the morning, I heeded the ocean's siren call and made my way to the beach.

I feel at once large and small next to the big ocean. I feel large because I know the ocean understands and knows my depth. It sees my complexity. It knows that simple platitudes won't change the way that I feel – platitudes only tell me that people care but do not know what to say. It'd be better if they said nothing at all.

I feel small because the ocean is too big, and too vast. I cannot comprehend its length, breadth, or depth. I experience very little of it. Although it knows me, I do not know it; and it is that very lack of reciprocity that makes me feel so small. 

A tear silently grows in my eye, and slips down my cheek to dampen the coarse sand. This tear is followed by another, and a third, until I find myself sobbing, lying on the ground with my head in my hands. In a rush, I have no control, and all I know is the deep tearing of my heart in two as I come to grips with what has happened. I am grieving. I don't know what I'm feeling. 

I lie there, on the beach, for a while – I do not know how long – emotions pouring from my fractured heart. It hurts, but it hurts in a comforting way; to be vulnerable enough to cry.

The ocean's waves ride up the sand to kiss my cheek, once wet with tears, now wet with the blessings of the deep. It reminds me that I am not forgotten – and that I must not forget. The hand of the ocean, outstretched, touching me, is the strength I needed. My sobbing subsides to quiet crying.

The ocean reaches out again. And once more. The ocean is reminding me that it cares – that it knows the depth of my hurt, and the sorrow of my loss. A thought occurs to me: maybe the ocean is just made of tears cried in love. Maybe the tears of those who have gone before me reach out to me now, to console and comfort me. Perhaps I am not alone.

As I calm down, I stand to my feet, and begin brushing the cool sand off of my shaking body. Some peace is settling into my heart, and as it does, I become more aware of my own body. I'm cold. I'm thirsty. I'm tired. I begin the walk back to my house, and know that tomorrow will look very different. A hole in my life. But the ocean has prepared me for the journey ahead, and I am thankful for its gift of presence.