I'm writing this newsletter post from my cell phone in my NC State chair on the beach here in Atlantic Beach, NC. Getting away always gets me back. Back to what?To what might one return in such a place frequented by the finest of Americans, our military men and women in Harriers and Ospreys--the most welcomed noise of freedom--a place spared of too much commercialization; a place serving as a container of memories for both my home and church family; a place holding some sense of a preeminent before for me, an alluring magnetism of spiritual alignment. I can't help but sit back and feel that all's right in pantheonic matters; that in these mere breaths is proof of victory and hard-won peace, yet I only show up.
To what? It must be to one's self. I'm of the persuasion that all life experienced is projection. This ocean I look at now, mystery of mysteries; this sunlight that illumines my senses, showing me my wife and kids (the trinitarian transfiguration of my very soul); a perfect breeze upon which gulls walk with ease; hundreds of folks I'll never know yet know perfectly, all too perfectly; an infinity of sand grains holding up this umbrella, strong enough to barrier the sea while graceful enough to caress my feet; I'm reminded: before it all was, I am.
Maybe one simply comes back in a place like this, returns to what we always were--alive, conscious. Life distracted and regimented in the daily wheel-spinning proves to be nothing more than the constant hissing of the tireless surf, which, too, becomes beautiful when noticed. The ocean bids us notice, wildly waving for our attention!
It's funny. I'm here two and a half days, but time stands still. Death, life--none of it matters right now. "To be or not to be..." was never the question, as whoever she was who wrote in Shakespere's name probably knew all too well. How can that be? Maybe the better question: how could it ever NOT be?
I'm going to look up by looking in for now. This is that relished letting-go, that not-trying, don't-know, child-like mind taught by all the wisdom teachers. It made Jesus timelessly grateful to realize even the simplest were awaking to this truth. With that epiphany, life and death were no more to him than misnomers.