Showing posts with label Walking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Walking. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Point (of it all)
Welcome to my sanctuary; the Point.
The utter-most end of a life.
Often when I walk the beach, I'll seek out a destination; a spot to challenge myself, or rather my thighs, to get the lead out. I will try to "just get there." I'll start at one end, walk the main stretch, trek up a hill or two, follow a path through sea-oated dunes to an overlook or vista, and voila! The landscape or seascape is always a reward. Actually, any view along my walk rewards me, but when I come to a Point, well, that's like an exclamation point at the end of a statement.
And there is a lot of statement-making going on while I walk. Fortunately, with the increase of hands-free cell phones, I fear no embarrassment. Along with all the other crazed, self-talkers around, as out-loud as I want to be I can whimper, laugh, pout, yell, sing, cuss (although I'm not too good at that, but I could be if I wanted to). In other words, I do a lot of hashing it out as I walk. In therapeutic terms - I'm processing.
Processing on my own is helpful, but processing against something, against someone, is even better. Hitting a tennis ball over the net to empty space over and over again, may improve my serve, but at some point I need the volley. I need the feedback - the return comment that lets me know how I'm doing in real game terms. And this, (despite all the confusing religious, spiritualized, moralized, Christianized, Buddah/Hindu/Islam/Jewish-ized mumbo-jumbo), is why I like God.
I like the fact that He/She can be more than an idea or concept. That God can be, presence. That we can opt to experience Presence if we choose. And I need to choose that - a lot. I admit, that sometimes I'm smacking my statement-balls into dead space, but there are undeniable moments when conversation happens - a volley of thought; a volley of Presence. And when it does, this Presence is safe.
I can express anything I feel, any way I want - and Presence, sticks it out with me. In fact, the day I discovered that a Point was more than destination's reward, that it was a sanctuary, was a day of horrific arguing. I beat my fists against Presence's chest; yelled; exhausted every last ounce of rage I could muster and hurled it. And Presence, remained. Stayed within the conversation. Unsullied; undisturbed; calm; engaged. Walked the whole way with me....over a creek, up steep hills, past condos and cottages, over the boardwalks and paths, and onto a dune overlook. Sat down among the dunes with me - right next to me; Presence, as close as breath. And did not say a word, but as if stretching out an arm across the expanse of sea, bid me to see. And as I looked out, I felt drawn into Presence - like a warm embrace; arms drawing me closer into peace. And then Presence said, "It's ok, baby. Lean in. Rest."
And I did.
And I worshipped.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Oddities
I've noticed a couple of things, walking the beach......
Like, how when my face is totally relaxed, my lower lip hangs loose like an orangutan's. I had no idea it did this. I felt it drooping there the other day, keeping time with each step. Dangle, dangle, dangle. And I thought, good grief, when did that happen? What if I wore dentures? They'd plop right out of my mouth, drop to my feet and stare back at me wondering what the heck they're doing down there instead of up in my mouth. I'm wondering if this looseness has to do with all that collagen-loss magazines harp about regarding, you know, women my age? Never in my wildest thoughts did I ever think I would wonder about dentures, sloppy lips, or botox.
I've also noticed while walking ~
Dead things:
Cannon Beach has souvenir T-shirts with touristy slogans, one of which is, I walked Cannon Beach and Poked at Dead Things with a Stick. And there are dead things; all kinds of sea-life washed up with the tide, waiting to be prodded and examined. Most of what I've seen has been pre-assaulted by gulls. They tend to precisely poke out the eyeballs of fish, other gulls, seal, pelican, and various other bird-life I don't know how to identify yet. When I see these critters I can't help but to feel a kind of sober awww-that's-sad, moment. Except when it's a crow, and then I can't help but feel a kind of, yes!
Disgusting things:
I wonder how much dog poop is laying just below the sand surface? Cannon Beach loves dogs. It's a great place to let your best friend romp in sand and surf, and most dog owners carry their little blue baggies with them, scoop the poop, bag it, and dump it appropriately. But, there are other common methods I've observed as well. Like the, aw shucks, I forgot the baggie shoulder-slump, quick look around, dig a hole with your heel, push the pile in, bury it, and tamp it down method. It works. No one's the wiser; it's natural, and the tide is a good accomplice. And then every once in a while there are those proud little piles left right there on the sand.....waiting.
Other things:
A muck boot; a pair of men's briefs; a glass float from a fishing net. And tennis balls. Lots and lots of tennis balls in various stages of life. Remember, this is a dog lover's beach, and in particular, for dogs who live to fetch around the water. Some balls are still lemony, nappy, and bouncy. Others are soggy and grayish; and then there are those that look as if they've bobbed around the sea for ages, a thread-bare mushy mass of retrieving-memories.
But, circling back around to the kind of observation that startles me into the self-aging-upkeep-awareness thing ~
The oddest thing I thought I noticed while walking the beach was a boob. I could see from a distance, this geletaneous mass, protruding, nice and perky, looking exactly like a saline implant. Now, I knew there were bits and pieces of jellyfish strewn here and there, and I was pretty sure that's probably what it was. But, this was different. The other jelly masses flatly blobbed on the sand. This was perky. Shaped, well, it had that, you know, just right protrusion at the tip. And I thought, what in the world? How on earth could someone lose a breast implant? What kind of horrific impact or sea accident could cause such a thing to, pop out? And when I stooped down to examine it, there, just as perky and perfectly shaped as any C-cup boob could be, was a jellyfish blob perched on the top of the domed lid of a Slushy cup.
These are some of the oddities, the other kinds of things I notice and wonder about while walking the beach....what does that tell me?
Like, how when my face is totally relaxed, my lower lip hangs loose like an orangutan's. I had no idea it did this. I felt it drooping there the other day, keeping time with each step. Dangle, dangle, dangle. And I thought, good grief, when did that happen? What if I wore dentures? They'd plop right out of my mouth, drop to my feet and stare back at me wondering what the heck they're doing down there instead of up in my mouth. I'm wondering if this looseness has to do with all that collagen-loss magazines harp about regarding, you know, women my age? Never in my wildest thoughts did I ever think I would wonder about dentures, sloppy lips, or botox.
I've also noticed while walking ~
Dead things:
Cannon Beach has souvenir T-shirts with touristy slogans, one of which is, I walked Cannon Beach and Poked at Dead Things with a Stick. And there are dead things; all kinds of sea-life washed up with the tide, waiting to be prodded and examined. Most of what I've seen has been pre-assaulted by gulls. They tend to precisely poke out the eyeballs of fish, other gulls, seal, pelican, and various other bird-life I don't know how to identify yet. When I see these critters I can't help but to feel a kind of sober awww-that's-sad, moment. Except when it's a crow, and then I can't help but feel a kind of, yes!
Disgusting things:
I wonder how much dog poop is laying just below the sand surface? Cannon Beach loves dogs. It's a great place to let your best friend romp in sand and surf, and most dog owners carry their little blue baggies with them, scoop the poop, bag it, and dump it appropriately. But, there are other common methods I've observed as well. Like the, aw shucks, I forgot the baggie shoulder-slump, quick look around, dig a hole with your heel, push the pile in, bury it, and tamp it down method. It works. No one's the wiser; it's natural, and the tide is a good accomplice. And then every once in a while there are those proud little piles left right there on the sand.....waiting.
Other things:
A muck boot; a pair of men's briefs; a glass float from a fishing net. And tennis balls. Lots and lots of tennis balls in various stages of life. Remember, this is a dog lover's beach, and in particular, for dogs who live to fetch around the water. Some balls are still lemony, nappy, and bouncy. Others are soggy and grayish; and then there are those that look as if they've bobbed around the sea for ages, a thread-bare mushy mass of retrieving-memories.
But, circling back around to the kind of observation that startles me into the self-aging-upkeep-awareness thing ~
The oddest thing I thought I noticed while walking the beach was a boob. I could see from a distance, this geletaneous mass, protruding, nice and perky, looking exactly like a saline implant. Now, I knew there were bits and pieces of jellyfish strewn here and there, and I was pretty sure that's probably what it was. But, this was different. The other jelly masses flatly blobbed on the sand. This was perky. Shaped, well, it had that, you know, just right protrusion at the tip. And I thought, what in the world? How on earth could someone lose a breast implant? What kind of horrific impact or sea accident could cause such a thing to, pop out? And when I stooped down to examine it, there, just as perky and perfectly shaped as any C-cup boob could be, was a jellyfish blob perched on the top of the domed lid of a Slushy cup.
These are some of the oddities, the other kinds of things I notice and wonder about while walking the beach....what does that tell me?
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