Behold, The Sea

I prefer to consult the ocean in the early morning or at the close of day. Having grown up along the sandy shores of New Jersey, the rumbling of the Atlantic is sometimes more familiar than my own voice. It has been the canvas against which much of my life has been painted. It was the standard against which I measured depth and I challenged Fear.

I have borne witness to its most peaceful stillness and its most apocalyptic rage. It has taught harsh lessons and served as quiet counsel. Emerson has described the sea as “the nourisher of kinds, purger of earth, and medicine of men,” and I am inclined to agree with him.

 The Oregon coast is colder, more rugged, and its shores far greener.  As yet, I’ve had little experience with the Pacific. Beneath the differences, the smell of the salt air and the sound of the waves has the same power to “wash out harms and griefs from memory.”

 In a time where a sense of uncertainty, turmoil, and unbridled hate saturates our news and our discourse, it is more important than ever to come into the peace of wild things.