I walk over the line of the waves where children sat apprehensively in their first baths in the sea.
Fun sandpipers, white egrets and fearless cormorants make me happy with their company.
An unexpected wave seems to play with me, bathing my legs in the warm waters of summer afternoons.
A hawk lands briefly in the shadow of a dune, while a lone fisherman looks closely at the sea.
A dog is surprised by its owner, following him when entering the sea. Back on the soft sand of the beach, at the lazy murmur of people, it fixes his gaze in the distance, where a female seems hesitant to approach. Oblivious to the scene, a young couple kisses each other passionately, caressed by the engaging scent of the waves’ breath.
There is the blowing of a wind that softens the heat, there is the sensuality and calm of an interlude in people’s hearts, there is the sparkling color of an invisible web of connections.
The Sun tilts before the horizon, announcing that it is time to return. I look for shells in the middle of the white foam and the water slide reflects the light and clouds of the sky, on which I leave my footprints.
My feet touch the sand and life seems to light up as I walk on reflections, a clarity that comes from the experience of a body in motion, present, in relation.
Days passed and I return to that late summer afternoon and I seek the contentment of the images that tell me now about the truth of relationships — we are reflexes and, as reflexes, we relate. We find in the other what is asleep or forgotten in us. We discover in the other what our spirit wants to remember us.
Sometimes, what we see displeases or frightens us, we feel hurt, belittled or attacked, but let us know that in the eyes of the other there is our spirit to observe us, answering the call of our evolution, awaiting our recognition, our awakening.
We are alchemists in this encounter, converting the victim’s fear into the heat of the purest compassion for ourselves and for the other, transmuting the executioner into the hero of our creation. For may the light of his sword be our courage to transform our criticism and judgment into wise discernment.
I realize now, in the luminosity of the footprints of a late summer, that there is nothing else to look for, because we are spirit. We are the spirit to distinguish hues from seasonal colors, to breathe the nuances of aromas, to feel the touch of our feet in the humid sand of the beach, anchoring us with such firmness to reverberate throughout our bodies, finding our place, our home in the presence and, in the awareness of each meeting, our purpose and our destiny.
March 25, 2021.
Image: Three Little Maids, by Lucelle Raad
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