For many years of my life, at one point or another, I've lived in California, and most often near a beach (or something resembling a beach). At some of the lowest and highest points of my life, I've gone out to the beach, or the ocean cliff, and stared off into the ocean - in the daylight, at night, at dawn, at sunset. I feel like I've seen the ocean in a variety of moods - or rather, being myself in a variety of moods.
And there have been many times when I've gone to it because I'm at my limit. I need some time away. I need a different answer. I need to get away. I need a view that is away from the land, a view that is away from humanity, and from the reflection of all my foibles.
I was thinking recently that this was the only time I went to the ocean - when I needed an escape, when I was at my limit.
But then I was reflecting on the times when I've relied on the ocean as a different view. I go to the edge of the land, the land's end and stare into - what? Am I really looking at my limits, or am I staring off into the limitlessness? What is the possibility that I see out there?
Once we reach our limit, do we experience at the same time our limitlessness?
That's what I realized I experience at the ocean. It's a gorgeous and freeing experience. Living in Colorado, I get the mountains, which are their own experience and which have been powerfully moving in their own way.
I get to see the ocean only once or twice a year now. And I still feel that delicious, encompassing pull of the ocean. I miss the unique experience of staring off into the vastness, the flow, the endlessness of the ocean and realizing I'm staring into myself. Or staring into that endless part of myself.
