The Calm by the Ocean

Lately, I've been spending most of my free time by the ocean. I go right after work and I stay until the sun has set. I listen to music or read or walk along the shore, staring at the clouds slowly turn a warm pink and gold until finally they transform into a cool, deep bluish gray.  I do this alone. I think that this is my form of meditation. At night I tend to worry about tomorrow. But when I'm at the beach, the water captivates me. I have no room to think of anything else except for the waves crashing and the seagulls crying and the wind blowing its song into my ear. 

The best moment for me is always when the sky becomes alive. The pink and blue and orange clouds coat the world above me like pieces of cotton candy. The sun becomes this dark amber half circle submerging behind the black outlines of tall buildings closest to the beach. The water is a reflection of above, so that when it crashes along the shore and withdraws back into the sea, it leaves a glistening film of silver and color so vivid you feel as if you are walking on they sky. 

I love to stroll barefoot on this sky water. I walk towards the jetty and I climb the rocks and I hear the crash of waves and taste the salt of the sea on my tongue and there's no other moment but the moment I'm living right then. There's no fear. There's no worry. My mind is clear and formless. I take out my iPhone and try to capture the soul of the sea in images. I only get a glimpse of its secret heart, something dark and powerful and pulsing with the energy of countless years of being. I don't flinch when the gulls fly nearby. I don't panic as night pulls its shroud across the world and the beach becomes this silent shadowed place. I feel harmony here. 

When I know I must leave and I turn my back from the water, I feel its pull tugging the strings of my heart. I feel the depth of its existence cradle some worried section of my heart. It will be here tomorrow. This I can be certain of. The moon is at my back. My soul is shrouded in salt and the weightless brilliance of sunset clouds. I feel beauty all around me. And it is a gentle, happy feeling. 

Dreaming Hours

There are certain times of the day that are meant for dreaming. Late at night is one of those times. That's when the world sleeps and your body is able to settle and your mind is allowed to drift. That's when all the thoughts that you are afraid to acknowledge at work or school or with friends comes drifting out and your finally able to decipher them.

Another time is right at daybreak, before noise pollutes the world and the air is still fresh and slightly chilled. This is when the sky is a ribbon of orange and blue and red and eyes are just beginning to open.

Those are my favorite times. It's when I feel most like myself. There's no one to speak to yet, no smiles to give or words to exchange or errands to run. Those times are simply for me. And I bask in the selfishness it provides me.  Maybe that's why I find it so hard to sleep. I'm waiting for that moment at night to finally cast off my shell and stretch and breathe. I don't want to miss it, so I forego sleep and pay the price in the morning as a groggily head to work.

Sometimes I wish things weren't so mundane. Sometimes I wish it wasn't always the monotonous rhythm of waking up, working, going home, sleeping and repeat. But There's stability in those actions that I crave because stability is safety in my eyes. Still, there are times I wonder what it would be like to get up every morning and experience something new. I new city, a new neighborhood, a new food. Something that wakes up the mind from the dull routine. Something that opens the eyes.

I often think of about what it would feel like to fall asleep in my home and wake up in a room situated in the Caribbean or the Greek Islands or something so unlike the things I'm used to. I would watch the sun rise and wake up this strange part of the world. I would eat foods that are nothing like the foods I eat at home. I would listen to the language and feel giddy from all the culture surrounding me.

I spend a lot of my dreaming hours thinking those thoughts about traveling and seeing the world. I think that's a sign that my mind and body craves something different, something that can only be found with a plane ticket and the name of a different country on it. But mainly I think about the things I would see, the images that will write itself into my mind. The stories I'd create.

And then I look at the time and realize that I need to get some sleep. And with my eyes closed I'd dream of things I barely remember in the morning.

Night.

Night holds me still, like a mother whose arms reach all they way to the sky, to the stars and beyond. Its lullaby is a cascade of silence, broken by the rippling of sheets or the rustle of branches. My thoughts are frantic, harried and loud from the chaos of the morning. They come to me in sparks, igniting and receding. Igniting and receding. But the night is a mother who has long since figured out the ways of her child, and she soothes me as my thoughts dim and I drift away....

Tears in the Dark

I don't think it's weird to cry alone in the darkness of your room. I don't think it's weird at all. I did it. Last night in fact. And I'll say one thing, sometimes living this life requires a few tears, even if the only person present to wipe those tears away is you. 

Last night I cried until I exhausted myself. I felt lonely and tired and sick of being lonely and tired even though I had just enjoyed a wonderful day with a good friend. I felt lonely because that wonderful day couldn't last forever. I felt tired because the loneliness is not a new thing. Now, this kind of lonely isn't the result of having no friends or family. I'm lucky enough to have befriended and been born alongside a group of really amazing, talented, kind-hearted, beautiful people. I felt lonely because...well just because. 

No. That isn't good enough. 

I felt lonely because even though I'm smiling and laughing and having a great time, the night always leaves me with just my thoughts for company.  

And my thoughts suck. 

Especially when it turns to the general direction my life has taken and the offerings I, as an adult human being, is able to give the world. My thoughts can be downright cruel. Even a a bit exaggerating but that doesn't stop it from rattling away. And I felt a loneliness settle within me when I realized there is no one to talk to about this... No one who would gladly listen for free at least. And so here I am in my room, with my shitty, mean-spirited thoughts for company. And I'm looking at my vision boards and the notes I wrote in the time of yesteryear and I feel tragically unfulfilled and old and pretty useless. And I haven't washed the makeup off my face yet and it's past 11 at night and I kinda wanna write a really pathetic status on Facebook but honestly what good would that do so I put away my hopefulness from yesteryear and I drag my sobbing body to the light switch, cut it off and collapse on my bed. My tears were multifaceted, with no real purpose except to engage in the act of releasing themselves. I let them go. 

And I cry for a bit, relishing in all that overwhelms me; feeling incredibly sorry for myself. And then, eventually my tears stop. I'm left in the darkness with eyes wide open and only my breath to guide me. I'm waiting for something to happen, for a ray of moonlight to touch my face like God's own ever-loving presence. 

I turn to the window. The moon is out. It is only concerned with its own haunting glow. But I look at it and I feel better. I wipe my tear-crusted face. I sit up. There is no sound in the darkness save for my own breathing. My own steady breathing. The world hasn't ended. My sobs haven't brought about Armageddon. 

 I don't feel great. But I don't feel as bad as I did when I originally started crying. So I just sit there. Alone. A little lonely. And I get up, wash my face, brush my teeth and head for bed.   

It's past 1 in the morning. My sleep is deep and dreamless. 

Thoughts about Night

Right now, I'm thinking about night as a fleeting breath against me. I need it's soothing touch but it never stays long enough. It is truly the only time when thinking comes naturally to me, when words are not so harsh and solid, but softer, gentler. I wish it would stay with me longer, but nothing in this world is permanent. So everytime I wake up, I let go, I exhale. And the night sheds itself and reemerges as day. This to me, is a sacrifice.