“Hark, now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea, and feel the sky
let your soul and spirit fly,
into the mystic…”
– Van Morrison
I grew up near the Atlantic Ocean on Long Island, New York. Living near it again in Porto I feel a childlike wonder at every move she makes. Every wave is a source of joy, every crash breaking against the jetty a moment of wonder, every dance of the surf towards the shore a thing of beauty.
A few times in my wild youth the ocean nearly took my life. But she decided to spit me out again. When I learned to respect her power she supported me, contained me, and asked for nothing in return. She listened, wet my soul, then let my tears fall into her vastness. I stood on the shore and opened my hands towards her horizon. I wanted to be there, anywhere away from where I was.
And now I’m on the other side of that horizon. I want to yell across to my younger self and tell her everything will be all right. Hold on. Your ship will come in and you’ll learn to navigate your way into the vastness of yourself.
