If I close my eyes in the quiet of a moment not stolen by social media, emails and kept expectations, no music to distract me, nor the ping of texted interruptions, there is a calm picture in my mind. It is a total relaxation of self, of the body at full peace. There is the sound of waters mingling with sand in a dance of ebb and flow that is constant and measured, very much a routine hum. Something you can count on. Something deliberate.
I am a beach person. More in my mind than in habit, but my heart and soul love the essence of a sandy beach. My husband however, could live the rest of his life never having to let his toes touch sand again. How can that possibly be? The interesting thing about this serene picture is that all the while the tides come in and out, in and out, the sand is forever displaced to an ever shifting location, still obedient to the master but fluid in it’s dependency.
There is abiding faith in knowing that the sands are still there, the waters still rush forward in waves of foam and salt. Today is counted and it is not lost.
People are pretty sandy, I think. We shift with time and mood, we shift depending on who we are with, we shift when someone bumps into us, plans shift, our age shifts us, we shift when we don’t get our way, we shift when someone else shifts in front of us.
We need rocks of foundation in our lives. Something to hold onto when the tides roll in and move us in directions we didn’t ordain. Pebbles aren’t big enough, and boulders are just a disguise. There underneath lies a bedrock, a firmness, a solid and firm holding to keep us moored when the waters threaten to drown us.
Today. It is a bold word. It should be revered. Yesterday is never to return and tomorrow is not guaranteed but we are here today. My hope and wish for today is to celebrate that Rock that is today, take joy in its fullness, forgive the salt that may wash over you and plunge deep in the wake of the here and now. Celebrate it and yes, don’t be afraid to let those toes get a little gritty.
An overabundance of sentimentalism to be sure, but it’s me in true form.
Elaine
