Recently I had the opportunity to sit at a few beaches along the Pacific Ocean’s coastline in California. Being near a body of water is always a calming, tranquil and meditative experience for me. My system mesmerized by the flow of the waves and the sounds they create. Invigorating to the senses.
While waves can be aggressive and chaotic, from the outside looking in I find them truly serene. That endless abundant flow creeping itself toward you one layer at a time. It is captivating. My eyes and subsequent being get lost in the depiction.
I sometimes wonder if the waves are communicating something. A whisper from the Source above.
There is a soothing, healing dose of care that seems to be administered in a space such as this. Access to the self and connection with the senses feels more accessible here.
I am partial to the moment of the cascade. That moment when water meets the sandy coast. When those beautiful and calming yet bold waves come flesh with land. When their tedious motion simmers. When they meet their furthest point of flow.
In that moment, something interesting happens. They fall backward. Their motion cascades back into the body of the sea. What once was an aggressive sensation of water billowing its way toward me is now a soft, calm and soothing flow of contents fading away.
The sand finds motion in its current.
What was once pushed forward now slowly falls back.
It is at this moment that my senses observe with innate attunement. I observe what this motion does to the land that surrounds.
As the day goes on, the point at which the water’s edge meets the land changes consistently. Up close and personal. Then far, far away.
My brain again ponders what nature could be trying to teach us from this portrayal.
Up / Then back.
Fast / Then slow.
Bolstering motion / Cascading reversal of the flow.
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I was talking to a friend the other day about the busy culture that we live in. The way that life often feels in constant motion. One that we feel the need to keep up with.
There always being the next thing to get to, learn, download or subscribe to. How sometimes that wreaks havoc on our ability to focus and be present, creative or intentional throughout our days.
I was thinking about how I often feel that I need a break from that cycle. Space from the experience. A detachment from that cultural flow.
My mind remembered the water.
As I sat at the beach, I observed calm water that glistened as it made contact with the sun’s rays. I observed rough, choppy water whose parts peaked out from its body in the form of ripples and waves. I observed the tide’s waves cascading toward me as I sat on the coast’s edge.
Again, it was that moment of reach. That moment where the water’s edge said, far enough. As it reached the coastline and then shifted its motion back. So as to cascade back to the safety of where it belongs. So as to return to its body, its being, its soul.
Reach far / Retreat.
Go fast / Fade slow.
As I pondered the incongruency I experience in my system as it relates to the culture in which I exist, I again wondered if nature was sending a message through this flow. Through its cascade. Through that moment of return. Of gentle shift. Of retreat to the core.
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Could it be possible that the feelings of overstimulation that come from experiencing a fast-paced, go-go-go culture do not equate to something wrong with me or my abilities?
Could it be possible that we, as humans, as one with nature, are by chance not made to always be reaching? Always be exerting? Always be in forward flow?
Could it be possible that, just as the water and its waves, we are also designed to need those moments of cascade? Those moments of pause. Of retreat. Of intentional reconnection with our being, our body, our soul?
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For fifteen months I have shared weekly in this space. Today I come to you after three weeks of quiet. Quiet that I did not plan and certainly did not inform you about. Quiet that you may or may not have noticed. I want to thank you for your patience if you did.
While life lately has posed many blessings upon my being, I have felt caught up in the chaotic, continued exertion of life’s flow. Feeling as if I were one of those bold waves whose being is raging toward you with all of its might. However, unlike the waves, my flow did not intend to slow. My being took in the messages around me and expected myself to keep going. To not stop. Never a cascade. Never a moment off.
When that happens, I experience a true disconnection between myself and my existence. As if I am walking the walk of my life, but I am not an active player in its game.
There is that constant expectation of the next thing to do... and it does wreak havoc on my ability to focus, be present, creative or intentional throughout my days.
So, naturally, I wind up off. Off on my schedule. Off on my routine. Sidetracked on my priorities. Perhaps a little sad. Perhaps a little down.
It is as if someone is grinding the gears that keep me going, yet I am not actively involved in the functioning of the flow.
As if there are strings attached to my limbs and a puppet master is dictating my every move from above. I am here, but am not.
I am a being, but am far from involved in the functioning as I go.
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As I sat on that Pacific Ocean coastline, I became assured of the fact that the water was telling a story.
I believe that nature is sharing messages with all who observe its existence. I believe that the Source above intends us to live and learn… and that messages are planted intentionally.
I believe, while we can certainly find ourselves stuck in the constant flow of our existence, that those moments of cascade are vital. That we must retreat toward ourselves and reconnect with our inner existence.
As the water’s edge says, far enough. We must also have awareness of our limits.
As it reaches the coastline and then shifts its motion back. We must also cascade back to the safety of where we belong. We must also return to our body, our being, our soul.
Reach far / Retreat.
Go fast / Fade slow.
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Melanie Jane
