More lessons from the sea… this one is about longing. (You can read my first post about my trip to the ocean here.)
Now that we are home, I truly miss those early morning sits on the beach. I felt that I was present during my time there, trying to soak up as much as I could of the feel of the sand shifting beneath me, the sun in my face, the salty wind in my hair and, of course, the undeniable drum of the ocean, greeting me, then retreating, only to begin again. Still, I could not absorb enough of it to sustain those sensations beyond my experience of them.
Knowing that the future of the pandemic is uncertain (and when is the future anything but uncertain?), I wanted to shore myself up for the possibility of not being able to return for some time again. I wanted to hold on to the experience. To bottle it and bring it home with me.
Of course, I am being schooled in the clever ways of attachment. If I am busy trying to reclaim my experience of the past, I am missing the experience of the present. In trying to recreate the sense of reverence and awe I had, I miss the reverence and awe that is occurring at this very moment right in front of me.
I often wonder if the people who live in spaces of great beauty become inured to them. After all, they see that vista every day and I wonder if it carries the same level of inspiration for them as it does me who only can visit seldomly. And would the same not apply to me?
What in my own environs have I turned a blind eye to, or dismissed as ordinary, when the beauty that I long for elsewhere, is right in front of me?
How easy it is to become trapped in longing and expectation! Even as I sat on the beach and counted the number of days left before we left, I was not present to the very thing I claimed to not want to leave.
We humans are strange creatures indeed. How fortunate that we have the capacity to develop the skills of presence, imperfect though they are.
I invite you to look up now from your computer, your phone, your tablet and scan the space you are in. What beauty do you see that you have walked blindly by time and again, taken for granted, or failed to ever see truly?
Would someone for whom this experience is foreign be so cavalier, or would they invite you to look with new eyes for the majesty that lies all around us?
Blessings on your journey,
Louisa has always enjoyed writing and is thrilled that she now has a way to share her musings with a larger community of like-minded seekers. Her writing is often an extension and exploration of the struggles she faces in integrating her own spirituality, scholarly study, life experience, and nuggets of brilliance from her teachers in the hopes that it might alchemically transform itself into something approximating wisdom.