If you have read my earlier blog, A 4 year-old Speaks to the Ocean, you know that my grandmother would watch me as I spoke to the ocean and she told my mother that she believed I thought I was really communicating. Guess what, I did, and I still do. I spent part of last week doing just that.
As I visited the Pacific Coast, I spent most of my days near the ocean, providing me multiple opportunities to speak to my friend. Mornings, before the sun even rose, I was thanking the ocean for the peaceful sounds it provided me as I slept the night before and welcoming it to a new day. How did it respond? Well I happen to be there shortly after the full moon, so the waves were strong and bold. At first I associated the sound as if the ocean was angry. Later it occurred to me that it wasn’t anger, it was strength. The ocean is a powerful thing, and never should that be forgotten. That strength helped to create the soft sand I stood on, smoothed the stones that lay at my feet, and made for a playground for the body surfers. Yet with all its strength, the ocean had a softer side as well. As I sat watching and listening, it would alternate from high, loud pounding waves to soft, easy lulling sounds as the surf easily made it way up the sand. It occurred to me that much like life we have our moments for strength and moments to pull back an approach things a bit more easily.
Throughout the day the ocean continued to share its gifts: the continuous comforting sounds; dolphins swimming by; a place for pelicans to soar and land. The evening was a time for me to once again thank the ocean for all that it provided that day. So yes, I stood at the edge and spoke to the ocean, just like that four year old, sharing my appreciation for all it provides. I was once again speaking to a friend.