Some mornings here at home remind me of past trips to the ocean. I know that might sound strange, there’s no beach or pounding surf anywhere to be found here in upstate New York. But it isn’t the sight of water, really, that takes me back. It’s the gray heavy sky, the wind in my face, the smell of moisture in the air, the way I feel so small.
I find the ocean very humbling. It’s beautiful, soothing, and a bit frightening, too. So much power, so much space it occupies on the face of our planet. And since our human bodies are about 70% water, it seems only natural that we would gravitate toward it, pilgrims returning home from a long journey.
This morning is a lot like one of those early beach mornings, before the sun has fully risen. I am reminded of the times I’ve taken my coffee out to sit on a tiny porch at whatever motel I’ve rented, usually with one of my good friends, to just sit and listen and watch as the world wakes up. Even if I can’t be there physically, deep down in the watery pools of my body I carry it with me instead, always.