Today I went to the beach to watch the waves rushing in from the ocean, and to find peace. Families lightly speckled the sand. Children splashed about in the water and others built snowmen with sand. It was, after all, nearly Christmas. What’s Christmas without a snowman, even if made from sand. Children of Florida may not have snow, but they know how to get into the spirit of the season. I don’t celebrate holidays anymore. I try at all times to celebrate each day that I’m alive. Listening to the children’s laughter on the beach reminded me, yet again, that everyday is special. The moment, now, is all there is. Nothing else is guaranteed.
The photograph is of me looking out at the ocean. I watched as surfers struggled to ride the too tiny waves that weren’t enough to give them a decent ride. Beach bums sat on their chairs looking off into the distance, coffee mug by their side. Some with a book in hand. What were they all thinking? Were they wishing for the same things I want? Freedom? A culture void of the violent madness that plagues the planet? What lives in their daydreams?
The problems of the world cannot be solved by day dreams. They must be solved by action. What did we all hope would happen out there, in the ocean? Would it give birth to something new? Would the cries of a new birth rise out of the water and travel to distant lands for all to hear? Who would cut the cord of this new life that we all would share? Who would fearlessly join the revolution and usher in a better world? Who would join the cries of rebirth? I don’t know. It’s all just our imagination–thoughts unformed. But in that moment of deep contemplation and introspection, time stopped. The sun was setting. The sky began to turn hues of red and pink. The birds were making their last rounds in search of food and shelter.
I kept looking out. I wanted something to happen before I left. But nothing did. Maybe nothing would ever happen. Maybe this is all there is. Me, the ocean, the moment and thoughts that turn to dust when the sun fully sets.