Winter Significance

I love the winter ocean. The colors and solitude. Not the quiet because the wind and the waves are accentuated when empty of people.

I love the push and pull of the water coming up trying to catch me. The dead remaining debris from long ago or maybe recently forgotten. The reminder of being insignificant surrounded by significance.

I love the winter ocean now as the days become longer. Watching the white foam and wondering if the tide is the ocean’s breath or the waves rhythmically inhaling and exhaling. I love standing on the shore and daring the ocean to come and touch my shoes. I love the virgin sand and the awareness that this sand maybe older than me and one day I may be sand.

Coming here to the ocean brings me peace at a time of turmoil. A time when hate and objectification of women has been glorified. The ocean reminds me of the temporary aspect of all living beings of all ideas. Every shift, movement, wind worn debris is a reminder that for every action there are consequences, always.


I asked the shell for permission to share my journey. “As long as you notice how the top has been opened” was the response.

The spiral had either worn away, or given way, to expose the core of the shell.


The waves breaking near me exist because of their curves.

 I stood, sand blowing against me, my hair twisting wildly in the wind, white caps twirling turbulently. There was no separation between me, wind, earth, water.

Every movement an invitation to expose the core of my being. My dress, passed on through at least three people, my age inconsistent with my daily search for wonder, my choice to live simply while appreciating quality artwork, swirled within me until broken open. Distinctions separating the essence, demanding to be revealed like the sun opening through the clouds. Reasons for delineation between you, me, the protected birds, the playful dolphins, vanished.

 Gratitude, for all the teachers who helped me accept exposure. Prayers, for all, including me, who are still afraid of stepping into the turmoil of change. Desire to know, feel, breathe, act, with my crown worn away, surrounds me. Hearing the message from the wildness of my nature ~ I am loved unconditionally.

Rhythm of my breath balancing with the strength of the wind, leaning into the force of nature completely. Listening to the grass bending with the wind singing ~

“No permission needed to love.”