Sometimes we have to reclaim parts of ourselves we've pushed away and ignored ever so untruthfully slightly. The ocean reminds me of these things, so recently I have been spending some time beside her.
This is my latest post.
As a child I would fall asleep listening to the sound of the waves pummelling the shore but 20metres away from my bedroom window. Opening the window at night, so that I could hear those waves was a ritual that made my heart soar.
On a beach in Cyprus I went for a walk one night by the ocean. At first I distracted myself by taking photos and then I stopped and just sat and looked and watched the swell of the sea and something inside of me mirrored that movement. As I sat alone on the beach; well alone with the stars & the sky, the sand & the waves something stirred inside; the sea brings to life a world often overlooked: our emotional world. Something I long to get more in touch with, but its just so damn hard. So I sit for as long as I can until I have to move and then I head back to our room.
“You love to throw stones,” my daughter says to me the following day, placing small pebbles into my palms, urging me to join her and throw more when I grew lazy and stop. And so we hurl stones & pebbles, rocks & silences into the waves. A plop a particularly delicious sound that you just don’t grow tired of hearing.
I pedal a pedalo across the ocean with my boyfriend looking over the edge of the plastic boat at the water, so clear you can see to the bottom. Turquoise patches here, dark patches there. As always it's with the dark where the imagination awakes.
At night when I soothe my daughter with quiet gentle shoooosh I hear the ocean speaking. Like a conch shell, oceans find ways to travel and be heard further then the sea bed from which they rise. And we listen entranced! And when I return home and sit on my mat in London in a yoga pose, I listen to the ocean once more in my breath like waves from an ocean rolling in and out of the shore. As I oscillate between human ocean, ocean human and settle somewhere in between. Oceanly human.
On another day, on a stretch of land unowned where the three of sit munching, hot sand warms me. My daughter lies across my lap; tranquil, relaxed and content. A peace flares up in my heart. Today: I remember.
Throughout the days in Cyprus I watched the ocean change colours like one of those mood rings we wore as kids. And in the morning before breakfast I told stories to my daughter about the ocean: the home from which we come. She looked towards it and I looked too. A mermaid once, a human now, perhaps remembering the longing that propelled us to land. So that when we left the sea, we never really returned. Or at least only fleetingly.
When we cry, the salt of the sea is found in the salt of our tears, so that one lick returns us to a home once lived. The sea, like our tears rolls & roars, swells & soars inside us all. Why then, if there is such familiarity within our tears is it so hard to let them fall?