The sense of nothing

5 am came early this morning. Our blue curtains filtered the morning light softly into the room like a flashlight under a blanket. My alarm pinged and I quickly reached to turn it off, the AC air feeling like ice in the darkness. I snatched my hand back and pulled myself deeper under the covers until the color of night gave room to day outside of my window. The pink blush of the morning sky filled the room as I pulled back the curtains. The roosters crowing one after the other with no concept or worry about time.

Sea turtle patrol starts right after the sun comes up. After forcing down spoonfuls of oatmeal, I head to the beach. The beach, the edge of where all humans can stand on their own two feet. I’ve seen the ocean more times than I can count. From above and from below. The ocean in North Carolina is the color of sand. The waves mix together like they are laughing at a joke we all missed on shore. People enter the water there without a thought. The water here is the color of a blue raspberry jolly rancher. I have an image of myself eating jolly ranchers until I was sick in 7th grade. Me sticking my tongue out to Caitlyn to show her it was blue, her sticking her red tongue out to me. The sand here is white, the sea shells on the shore are white, are pink, are striped, are zig zagged spectacles lying in the sun. People enter the water here after taking a second, a minute, a prayer, a hoping that nothing greets them under the clear blue glass. Being able to feel your full self through rippled water does something to the brain. The fish swim up to you in a rush like you’ve been missing. This is the part.

As the group walked along the shore, crabs darted between our feet and dove into their holes. Different people at different times in different directions pointed at the water in excitement. Rocks. At first glance I thought boulders had developed along the sandbar. Then I stood still, turtles. Turtles mating. Turtles swimming by themselves. A turtle with its fins up spinning around like a figure skater. The waves flowed in six different intense directions. The chaos was the peace. The turtles bobbed along with the current. I wanted to fall into the sand and lay face down in the water. I wanted to lay in the pits the turtles dug and rake the sand over me. Being out there under the early sun watching the ocean as it bubbled over with creation made me feel like if I just placed one finger in the water, something inside of me would shift directly center.

I have lived on the island for 8 months now. The first half of the year, I went to the yoga studio more than I went to the beach. The beach wasn’t going to fix my posture. The beach was going to show me myself and I wasn’t ready for that yet. All my dreams consist of the ocean, or flooding or a river or me in a body of water. The water is always chasing me in six different directions.

This summer I have found myself being tethered to the land. I haven’t considered nature as a living entity since my youth. There is no ignoring nature while living on an island. Lizards try to dart into our home every time we open the door. Chickens roam along the side of the road. Cats tumble through neighborhoods in packs determined to never be locked inside again. One day at the beach is a lifetime of sand in the car. Communing with nature has opened my eyes to the truth that I’ve been missing by being so disconnected. The first question everyone always asks people they have never met is, what do you do? I have found myself asking myself, what is the “to do” only to find, there isn’t one. The “doing” is the undoing of the doing in the first place. We are always seeking answers in screens that lead us to another screen of someone telling us more of what we need to do with our lives when we could go just stop and sit outside for a second. Isn’t a moment in nature a moment with God? I’m finding that the clarity of life comes to me when I watch the bees land in the water bowl I leave them in the mornings. It comes when I’m laying down in a hammock next to my friend, the breeze pushing us like a magic carpet in the middle of the mahogany trees, as we stare at the bird above us perched on its nest. It comes when I swim above the coral, telling the kids next to us that if they go under right now, they will find a turtle coasting in its own direction under the waves.

After finishing my patrol, I was excited to shower off the sand but sand is broken shells and coral and tiny bones and somehow having a little piece of everything from the sea on my skin makes me feel whole.

T ❤