When the frantic rhythms of the day start winding down, the time when the sun descends beyond the horizon turning a pale blue sky into an outburst of crimson hues, that's my favorite time of day! It is when the pulse of life intrigues me most, and when a solitary stroll along the water's edge best lends itself to quiet reflection.
Stop And Look
My walk is now and then interrupted by pauses for shell collection; beautiful empty abodes of unique design and multi-colored forms that once sheltered little creatures from the ocean's depth. Some have probably died, others perhaps beckoned away from their sanctuaries to start a new life somewhere in the immensity of their liquid world -- their shells now tossed up as an offering on the sandy beach.
I hesitate at the impulse to take these shells home with me; somehow "collecting" seems to belie my determination to shed physical and emotional clutter and bring simplicity into my life. But is it ego's insatiable craving that prompts me to hold on to them, or perhaps a longing of spirit for these shells to encompass the totality of this moment's perfection? And if I cling to the beauty and wonder of this moment, won't I miss what the next has to bring? I cannot resist selecting a precious few to keep -- I sense they have something to tell me.
Delighting in the whimsical design my random steps have imprinted on the warm, malleable sand, much alike the dotted maze left behind by seas gulls and long-legged herons, I cannot foresee how abruptly this off-hand art work will be swept away by the relentless tide -- swiftly vanished, forever gone! Yet, I am soon baited by the clean expansive canvas these breakers have laid anew before me -- an open invitation to a new creation!
It is as if the constant tidal motion conspires in this cadency of progress; all lovingly unfolding and regenerating -- no attachments or judgments here, no stagnation! This is what the ocean has to teach me. I notice tiny hermit crabs scurrying in and out of the wet seaweed strewn across the white sand. Do they know of their ephemeral nature, and within the simplicity of their own beingness, do they care?
Perfect Ending
The cool sea breeze arouses me out of my flight of fancy, whispering in my ear intriguing tales of antiquity and I wonder at what point will it quicken into the winds of time. The second, the minute, the hour -- eternity's illusory grains of sand, flowing progressively one into the other, forever measuring and propelling, urging me forward on the tread of life.
Featured book:
A Cosmic Sea of Words: The Eckankar Lexicon
by Harold Klemp.
About The Author
Elda Himelblau is an ECKist (Eckanakar) and enjoys freelance writing. She can be reached at: 9326 NW 9 Place, Plantation, FL 33324.
