I had an hour before the meeting at the Sechelt hospice.
I walked out to one of the large boulders that hunkers, solid and implacable against the Pacific. The smaller beach stones rolled and cracked under my feet as I made my way up to the highest rock. I sat at the water’s edge and watched the waves roll in, rush out, roll in, rush out.
Further down the beach I saw three silhouettes sitting in a circle on another high rock. In between there was a mother with bright crimson hair. Her blonde little girls busy with choosing stone after stone, “Look Mommy,” said the one with the doggie hat,”look at this one!” On my left I saw benches, some with one, some with two people, there were others strolling down the path, some holding hands, some alone.
I sat. In solitary companionship with my fellow beings.
Waves, shiny and fizzy, rolled the rocks, racing back as fast as they had come in. Endless. Infinite.
I continued to sit. I felt the sun’s warmth cut with the crispness of the air off the ocean. I listened to the rolling rocks, the excitement of the toddlers, the sighing of the cedars.
I sat.
I have always prided myself on being productive. Even my meditation practise has been something to be ticked off under mental categories of ‘good-for-me’ disciplines.
Everything for a reason. Everything in its place. Tick, tick and tick.
All these years I have tried, and mostly failed, at being one of those people who can just hang out a beach. Mostly I felt like an imposter, like I’d missed the memo on how to do it right.
But yesterday I sat and listened to the day as it spoke to me about glory, as it offered me the chance to be both a witness and a participant, as it offered me the opportunity to live.
I realized too, that I wasn’t sitting and enjoying the day out of some guilt-by-proxy for my dying friend, and not because I needed-to-rest to prepare myself for the emotional wringing out that I knew was coming. I knew too, that I wasn’t paying attention because of some twisted survivor’s guilt about how I continue to thrive while my sister lives in addiction and pain. Nor, was I feeling any guilt for not working on my long to-do list that sat next to me in my purse. In short. I. was. not. guilty.
I was not, am not, guilty. Tick, tick and tick.
Instead, I knew I was beautiful. That I was part of this grand and amazing thing that is so off-handedly referred to as life (as if those four letters could begin to encompass the incredible wonders and possibilties in one syllable).
And I knew, with rock-solid certainty, that I was an integral piece of the glory. I was bearing witness to all of it; dark, light, rushing, retreating, depths, shallows, infinity.
And that I was finally, truly…being.
Thank you. Thank you and thank you.
And thank YOU 🙂
Sounds glorious. I believe that your higher self was with you enlightening you about what living is really supposed to be about when we let ourselves get out of the way.
At long last i have made a commitment to myself to meditate every day in the hopes of taking my life back and saying no to guilt. Your experience gives me courage to carry on. xo
I love your new meditation commitment Barb. It is both very hard and deeply rewarding, one of those lovely paradoxes that shape-shifts depending on what we bring to it, and more importantly, what we leave behind.
Loving your writing these days, Colleen. Coming from such a wellspring of vivid life, like the quickness of a knife on skin, everything bursting into contact with new dimensions, quickening and stilling all at once.
You should Never. Feel. Guilty. We are so lucky, so unbelievably lucky, to be graced with the place and the time and the essence of living and be able to stop in it long enough recognize the miracle of being. Especially when loved ones around us are on the falling end of the trajectory (or as I prefer to think, arcing out past the atmosphere of where mortals live, and where we can not yet follow).
I have begun prioritizing my health and am shooting for 12:30-2 every day as my window of gratitude for this body and energy and the incredible gift I am given every day, while someone else is slow to recover from a mobility-based surgery, sickens with cancer, lies intubated in Boston while everyone wonders if he will ever be ‘back’, or retreats into Alzheimer’s…
My gradually lengthening series of laps in the pool are feeling more like prayer every day. So glad you had your moment in the sun to recharge, for the work you are doing in your life is beautiful.
Laurie, I have no trouble imagining your pool laps as prayers…such a beautiful image.
And thank you too for shifting the idea of trajectory into an ‘arcing out past the atmosphere of where mortals live, and where we can not yet follow’. That is pure poetry.
I am so glad you’re prioritizing your health. It’s up to each of us to take care of our temples/bodies. Blessings…
Wow, I feel as though I was there with you on those rocks. We should do nothing (and enjoy it) more often.
Michele, I think I’m getting onto this idea of doing less and enjoying it more. Maybe we can pull off some serious downtime in 2015…I’d love that.
Great advice and insight … again. Being productive is ingrained, but there are limits.
This morning I resolved to be productive and finish working on a dinner set order. Then I read your blog. I looked out the window to glorious sunshine and weighed my priorities. Would I be better off in the basement wedging clay and throwing 10 bowls, OR should I go for a long walk in the sunshine this afternoon.
Four of my closest friends are plagued with hip replacements, crippling foot ailments, heart conditions and Alzheimer’s. I owe it to them and to me to go for a walk.
I agree Martha. We need to practise ‘know your limit, play within it’ 🙂 I have no doubt it’s also very satisfying to create in clay but this beautiful spring-like weather kind of blows every other possibility out of the water.
And it sounds like your friends would love the opportunity to enjoy such a simple and perfect pleasure. I’m glad you got outside.
Wowsa! Love it. On so many levels.
Thanks Sharon. Wowsa is a fine word. It makes me happy.