I recently spent an afternoon walking nearly 8 kilometres along the shoreline of the ocean. I had a towel in the crook of my arm and a bag in my other hand, arranged to hold my sandals too. The sand before getting to the water’s edge was hot, nearly burning my feet. It cooled and firmed up by the waves. I could taste salt in the air.
As I walked, I took notice of the imprints left by the pearls of people’s toes or the full tread of a shoe, the webbed feet of seagulls or the paws of dogs. I had to keep watch for jelly fish beached in the sand, careful as to not get stung. I examined a few of their gelatinous brown bodies and thin red tendrils, occasionally noticing them pulse with some life, almost as though catching a breath.
I waded into the water, waves cresting at my knees. Seaweed sometimes curled around my ankles — pungent and green in varying shades. I stooped to examine bits of sea glass, mussel shells, and sunlit rocks that gleamed like gems.
Eventually I found an outcropping of rocks that I could sit on and let my feet linger in the water, my toes digging around the floor of the sea. A bug I could not identify landed on my arm and proceeded to stare as if to size me up. I took the snack out of the bag I was lugging around: strawberries, hulled and washed, sitting in a blanket of paper towel, water, and a container of nuts. The strawberries were deep red and the perfect amount of juicy sweet.
I gazed at the enormous sky, blue with only a few clouds. The Spiritual Director I am meeting with while in this part of the world has encouraged me to reflect on the landscape before me. And so, I tried to still my busy inner voice and decided to play with some sand. I noticed its soft, gritty texture, how it filled every crevice, how it could take on any shape. In the sunlight, it sparkled like glitter.
The wind picked up and my hair got wild. A few people greeted me as they passed. A child splashed in the water with glee. I thought of how my mom would have loved exploring in this way. Tears mixed with salt water air stung my eyes. I listened to the many sounds around me, including the crash of waves, the squawk of gulls, the wind and even my own feet hitting the ground. I left my belongings in a pile and went into deeper water, cooled by the embrace of the ocean.
As part of my Sabbatical practice, I have been attentive to the five senses. I write in a journal that is set up for me to reflect on what I have seen, heard, tasted, smelled and touched each day. I have found this helpful as I try to ground myself in the moment.
I eventually made my way back to where I began—windswept, sun-drenched, my towel now damp and my bag lighter. Arguably, my spirit was lighter too.
Postscript: Writing is an important part of the way I process, and so I will occasionally share about this sabbatical journey here on my blog. My sabbatical includes a commitment to be intentionally off-line about 98% of the time, and so I look forward to interacting more upon my return in September.
ERINN OXFORD 