The morning is soft and still. A storm blew through last night and the sky and the air are washed clean. It is early enough that the sand is still a bit wet from the rain. I am at the beach on a quest for … what? mAt the lake’s edge, the ebb and flow of the water reveal treasure--rocks that are the colors of the sky and the woods and contain remnants of life long ago.
I find my best rock treasures at the beach after storms, after Lake Michigan wore herself out, at least for the time being, and is quiet and still. As I turn and look towards the horizon, I see an expanse of blue, no line between sky and water. While land, sky, and water are always worth contemplation, this morning I am here in search of treasure. I am excited to see what the lake offers this morning, what she churned up from her depths or loosened from the land. On these glass-water days, I can see rocks clearly through the watery prism, every color and shape in perfect focus.
On my beach walks when I am in search of treasure, I often practice what I call my Beach Salutation.
Take a step forward.
Look up and notice the color of the sky; the movement and shapes of the clouds; the feel of the sun on my face and arms and the sand and water on my feet.
Inhale.
Look down.
Exhale.
Ah, a treasure is at my feet. Bend down for a closer look.
Inhale.
Reach into the water and grab the stone with my thumb and index finger before the water current moves it.
Exhale.
Stand. Turn the stone in the palm of my hand, studying its shape, colors, design.
Inhale.
My mind is still, more a part of the air and water than a thinking, discerning entity. Something, somewhere decides whether this is a treasure for my pocket or is to go back where I found it.
Exhale.
This salutation goes on for a few, or many, steps, minutes, miles. I have no timer. No quota to fill. I am simply part of the landscape. My senses are soothed, not overwhelmed. I am nowhere but here. As much a part of the landscape as the sand, the water, the stones in my pocket.
What is it about water and sand that beckons meditation? At home, on my mat, I close my eyes and focus on my breath as a way to try and quiet my mind. Along the shore, my breath becomes part of the sound of the waves, rolling in and flowing out. In and out. In and out. I focus on a single spot at the waters’ edge. I hear a boat engine. A child’s laugh. A gull’s cry. I hear separate, distinct sounds. The lake absorbs the superfluous. This is my mediation. I give thanks. I am grateful.
But I am brought back to the question of why I collect rocks and feathers and beach glass. What is that makes me want to bring this flotsam, this beach debris home? To make it a more permanent part of my life perhaps? Or as a tangible reminder of a specific time and place?
Emptying my pockets after a walk on the beach brings back the sensations of a place where I am a seamless part of the space I inhabited. There I am a soul wrapped in a body that melds into the landscape. Boundaries disappear. I am reminded of that feeling when my soul took over in my Beach Salutation, directed my hands and feet, eyes and mind. No need to speak. To analyze. To share. I am part of the movement of water and sand. The beach changes. I change. I am part of the natural, beautiful, inevitable change. And for the few short minutes, here and there throughout my day, as I look at, touch, and study the treasures I collected from the beach, I am able to lose myself and gain the world.
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