My Puerto Rican host family and I are squished in the car again, headed to a beach on the southeast coast. The sun is nearly setting as we roll up and park under coconut trees on white sand. Raul tells us this is a good place to collect coconuts and pulls out a big sack. My feet soak up the lingering sun in the warm sand as we comb the beach hunting for the ripe coconuts that slosh inside when shaken. We heft coconut after coconut over to the sack until our future bellies are contented.
I turn to the ocean, the softly sounding waves inviting me to join their symphony. I run into the water and plunge into a wave before it crashes overhead. These waves are my favorite kind, big and rolling, three or four feet high that only crash close to shore. On these kinds of waves I float on my back, close my eyes and gently relax every muscle in my body until I am weightless and free. With water below and air above, I commune and surrender to a swirling, rocking, pulling world. No need to worry about staying on solid ground-- here all is constant change. The ocean gurgles, splashes, crashes, sighs, and sings, echoing the rhythmic chaos of my being. I turn onto my stomach and sink back into the rhythm, relishing brief adrenaline rushes at the bottom of each wave when a huge wall of water is all I see overhead. I trust the wave to lift me back up to its crest where the steady horizon line is revealed again.
After a timeless period passes I swim back to shore, stomach grazing sand and shells as I clamor back to land. At the western end of the beach the clouds are celebrating the passing of the sun by displaying pink, orange, and peach illumination above a hill of tropical vegetation. Walking east along the beach, I come upon a line of red roses stuck in the sand. A woman nearby says that once upon a time, a woman lost her seafaring husband to the waves. Each year, on this day, she returns to plant a line of red flowers at the place where the infinite waters greet the land.
Sometimes we need a horizon line and it’s not there. So we create our own: a line of roses, a string of beads, a gathering of stories, a dance of our experiences. At once we acknowledge the chaotic uncertainty of life and assert our own power as co-creators. There is magic here...
