Waves

Today, I was told to relax. I took a few naps in a few different locations, but, never having been one for sleep, I decided to leave my snoozing family. I tied my hair up, turned on Death Cab, and headed down to the beach. Much to my surprise, I found the sand to be black and untouched. With the exception of some local fishermen, the beach was empty but breathtakingly beautiful. I walked about a mile east, away from the fishermen, and sat down.

At first, I turned down my music and tried to synch my breathing with the crash of the ocean's waves, eyes closed. The water would crash and I would inhale until it was silenced, at which time I would exhale, trying to set the oceans undertow to a predictable rhythm. But, the current is unpredictable and soon I became short on breath. It was a peaceful 40 minutes, but "Stable Song" was reaching its final key change and I felt foolish for trying to simplify the ocean into inhales and exhales.

So, I stood up and turned on Fleet Foxes' self titled album. "Sun it Rises" hummed and I walked to its familiar pace. Not knowing what else to do, I turned a pirouette. And another. And another. By the time "Ragged Wood" began, I was twirling and leaping and prancing towards the water. Eyes still closed, I danced. Alone on the beach, I was the only movement on that still landscape and that made me feel important. For the rest of the album's duration, the beach was mine to dance on at a pace I could control. Eventually, I opened my eyes. I was dizzy but, rather than looking at the horizon as I have always been told to do, I looked down at my feet. The black sand held imprints of their movement, casks of a dying dance. I smiled because I had left my imprint on this beautiful beach.

But, then the current picked up. The waves crashed, unpredictable, and covered my feet. The water was a familiar warmth but when the undertow pulled it away, the divots in the sand were filled.

I thought I might be mad; the ocean took the reminder of my dance away with one wave. It left me standing alone on this still beach, the only movement was the slowing beat of my pacing heart. But, the beach is unpredictable and so much bigger than any movement, any thing, I can give to it. How could I ever think otherwise? Being small enough to wash away is beautiful, but only half as beautiful as the things that are big enough to wash me away.