This Is What I Know

Last night, I fell asleep listening to the rhythm of the ocean just outside my bedroom, and earlier, it was the sound of the waves greeting the shore that pulled me from my sleep just in time to see the sun slip over the horizon. The ocean is peaceful this morning, the surface undisturbed as far as the eye can see, as if the tides themselves have yet to awaken.

Lately, our days have been filled with fun in the sand and the sun. Each year, after the last day of school has come and gone, The Greatest Kid On The Planet and I head for the shore. This year has been one of our greatest excursions yet, and even though I say that every year, I’m especially grateful for our current adventure because it almost didn’t happen.

We all, at times, experience unexpected trials that, whether for a mere moment or a whole season, throw us off track. Mine arrived in the form of a painful injury that has made it near impossible to concentrate and has kept me from my computer and keyboard. And while it came close to derailing our trip, there is little that can keep me from the ocean with The Greatest Kid. As it turns out, the sunshine and salty breeze were just what I needed to reset my compass and realign my focus.

I’ve often heard people say being by the ocean makes them feel small and insignificant in comparison. For me, it’s just the opposite. Sitting by the sea, watching the waves in perpetual, unrelenting motion, renews my spirit. And it reminds me of the immeasurable power of the Universe and all it’s capable of, and that this same infinite power of possibility has also been afforded to me.

Whenever we’re by the shore, one of our favorite things to do is to take a blanket down to the beach late at night and lie in the sand, staring up at the stars. Last night, the heavens were in perfect harmony with our plans, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to eclipse our view of the constellations above.

The Greatest Kid is like me. Together, we can stay like that for hours with the sound of the surf in our ears, counting stars and contemplating all we can and can’t see. It’s humbling and awe-inspiring, especially when we realize our part in it all; that the inconceivable forces that made the stars shine, the rain fall, the sun rise and the seasons change, the earth move, the birds sing, and all we can see and imagine, created us to go along with it.

These are the thoughts I ponder as I listen to the tides roll. Being by the ocean makes my mind wander. And it makes me wonder.

If the Universe created the sun and the moon and the surf to be the relentless and unyielding forces they are, then, surely, it had the same thing in mind when it created us. And if we have, in fact, been bestowed with this same infinite power, what, then, are we doing with it? Are we wasting it?

Why, with so much power and possibility at our disposal, do we still live in fear? Why are we afraid to be what we want to be, to live the life we want to live, and to love whom we want to love?

Why do we let doubt derail us and not see ourselves in the same way as the unstoppable force of nature that created us?

These are the questions I ask myself. Being by the shore brings back a clarity so easily lost in the deluge of daily routine. It centers my mind and grounds me in the present moment, and it reminds me of all I know to be true.

This is what I know:

The Universal power that created all we can see and imagine created us with the same power to create our own circumstances.

The answer to every question we ask the Universe is yes. The Universe doesn’t discriminate or hold a grudge. It is, in fact, anxious to give us everything we believe and desire.

Our thoughts become our reality.

No matter our past or present circumstances, we can, at any time, change our thoughts and change our reality.

We must let go of the past if we want to affect our future.

Grace, gratitude, and forgiveness are the greatest gifts we can give to ourselves and to others.

Nothing in life is still or stagnant. We, like the earth and the moon and the stars, are in perpetual motion, and we decide our direction.

These are the things I am sure of. Just as I’m sure that, before long, the lazy breeze teasing the palm trees will pick up and awaken the surf. And the waves that pounded the sand just hours before will return again to reclaim the shore that the gentle morning tide gave away.

These days, I find myself still struggling a bit, but the sky is clear, and the ocean is peaceful. And this week has been the grandest adventure ever, even if I’ve spent more time watching The Greatest Kid get pummeled by the surf than riding the waves myself. That is, without a doubt, the next best thing.

In a few days, we’ll return home, and I’ll replace the soothing sounds of the sea with the song of birds, the rustle of leaves and rainfall, the words of Thich Nhat Hanh, and nightly conversations with the moon and the stars from my back porch.

And I’ll, once again, put into practice the answers the ocean gave me. I’ll tweak whatever needs adjusting, start over wherever I need to, and leave behind the things that are holding me back.

And I’ll move forward with the unyielding faith and conviction that I was created to be the same as the waves rolling to the shore in continuous, unrelenting motion.

In a few weeks, we’ll be back here by the ocean for more fun in the sand and the sun. And by then, I’ll be ready to catch my share of waves, and The Greatest Kid and I will, again, spend hours floating in the surf.

In the meantime, I know it doesn’t matter the mistakes I make, the detours that throw me off track, or the trials and maladies that come my way. Whether it takes a few days, weeks, or longer, I can always find my way back.

And I can be sure that, until I do, the sea will be waiting. And the tides will continue until I return.

This is what I know.

M.C. Greene

P.S. How Is Your View?