Today’s work schedule here in Santa Barbara left me with time at the end of the day to take a walk. It’s late afternoon and I’m walking shoeless near the tide line, on sand settled by the continual raking of incoming and outgoing tides. My intention is to just be there walking, noticing what presents itself whether it bubbles up from inside my head or is some object on the scene.
My five-toed footprints mingle with dozens of others: criss-crossed sneaker soles, other bare feet both big and small, paw prints and the skittering tracks of the seagulls. Heavy textured ropes of seaweed lay on the wet sand like spines of pleated fronds hung with little pale yellow translucent bubbles. The breeze is cool and the sun, even in late afternoon, feels like a warm sweater on the skin.
This time offers a rare opportunity to set aside the linear mind, the one that inspects this and that and formulates meaning. The footprints in the sand offer not particular pattern but are merely ephemera, hints of comings and goings that will soon be erased by the tide. The sun is lowering, a visual promise that it is heading toward a final blaze reflected in water and air.
I stand at the ocean’s edge and wait for the waves to break and send frothing fingers over my feet. The outgoing current draws out the sand under my heels and I settle in a little more deeply. I stand for a few moments, aware only of the tickling foam, the draw toward the open sea. I have the sensation of moving, although it’s only a trick of the brain following the tide. The waves break farther and farther out and soon the water no longer reaches my feet. I realize I’ve been standing still, awakening from the illusion of motion.
I turn and start walking back toward the hotel. A large flock of seagulls congregates, squawking in dialogue, on a small sandy hillock just above the tide line. All at once they flap into the air and head out fishing. Back to work. Like them, I am best nourished with I leave the ground and head out to sea.
