This blog entry is not exactly like others I’ve made, just as this trip is a bit different than others, too. I needed some restorative time with myself, and my wife is the perfect complement that allows me to find that. Today, I was able to spend some quality time writing, not that I had an agenda or even a seed of thought of what I would write about, I only knew that I wanted to sit somewhere and give the process a chance to happen. This is what came out of the first session after breakfast.
Sitting in Contemplation:
Would a bird be able to fly thinking of quantum electrodynamics? No, that is why they can be birds. We can think of escape velocities and find solutions to great problems; this is why we can be human.
Sitting here next to the ocean, taking time to think of nothing, I’m waiting for my imagination to return while my critical brain is encouraged to lay fallow. Turning off the mental process and worry after months of being constantly buried with the stress of running a busy life has taken its toll on allowing me to find solace in relaxation; these two things should never be placed in a sentence next to each other. Relaxing need not be stressful, but when through that exercise, we desire to find the quiet mind that opens the creative window where the bounty of imaginative thought resides and find it blocked by the chatter of that which inhibits us from truly being on mental holiday, then finding that sought after relaxation becomes yet another chore that brings more stress and not the desired solace.
We should strive to remove more from the repertoire of brain-making-noise activity. Take the time to stare into the sky, the waves, at the grasses being blown by the light wind. Get lost in the shifting cloud layers whose patterns of light change the silvery sheen cast down upon the roiling surf. Meditate on the mother and son walking barefoot on an early fall day in cool northern ocean waters and realize they are there in the moment for hugs and the playful creation of memories that will stay with both of them for the rest of their lives. Take inspiration from the dogs running in futility after seagulls that should always remain elusive from the maws of canines, yet while their attempt does not end in triumph; it does allow those watching their enthusiasm to have fun in their sprint across the sand and surf.
We are two days into an extended coastal vacation, and the initial rush into shutting off the outside world is just now starting to offer results. The inside world, the one that appreciates this contrast of golden seagrass, wet sand, the green crest of the waves before they break into foamy surf, and the stretching of the deep ocean into the horizon where my ability to understand its size or bounty is beyond the scope of my experience is only now starting to dawn. Overhead, the sky shifts from layers of blues, whites, and grays to a flat palette of sorrowful heaviness portending bad weather. Without a dramatic, lively blue sky dancing under the sun, my eye focuses on the ridgelines of blowing grass being combed by the wind that also encourages those walking just beyond the dune to bundle up and find warmth within.
This is what I seek: the warmth within. Not the kind of warmth that keeps us toasty and protected from the cold, but the warmth of creative flow that only arrives with the calming of the noisy mind. I will continue to sit here next to the ocean in search of nothing much more than the quiet and casual observation of a world that continues to show me its heartbeat. The pulse of life cannot be enjoyed if one doesn’t remember to take the time to see and listen to the murmur that can only be experienced when the last word has been thought and spoken. It is time to fly.
Our lunch break is a gift from Giovanni at Andreoli Italian Grocer back in Arizona. Following our feast, we will head out for some serious exploration and walking, along with another coffee or two.
We are not venturing far and wide but are instead spending quality time being slow. Here at Cannon Beach in November, we have found the perfect place to be in relative solitude away from crowds with just enough amenities to bring us the creature comforts of luxury.
Night in Contemplation:
Writing when there’s nothing to write about because there’s nothing else to do and nothing left to read. I can’t turn on the television with the ocean in front of me with the sound of crashing waves rolling in. The low-frequency thud of a deep but unfelt earthquake sounded while the occasional flash of lightning was seen on the horizon to the west. The last time I witnessed the sound of a quake was on a winter night in Yellowstone, as a small earthquake was heard in the distance. Strange earth tones, for sure, and one we are not witnessing very often.
What of the possible tempest in the distance? I’ve heard that a winter thunderstorm on the Oregon coast this time of year is not a common thing to experience either. Nor is this cold that has me near shivering due to my familiarity with our desert home in Arizona. Oh, how we take for granted our creature comforts! While, yes, we are ocean side and on the fourth floor of our motel, the windows are open and the cold air has been blowing into our room since this afternoon and has made our temporary dwelling nearly as cold inside as it is outside. At least it’s dry in here; out there, it has been raining off and on.
A sound will drag me out on our balcony to hear an engine, a voice in the distance, or something of who knows what kind of nature? I come back in to at least get out of the low winds, though gusts can cut right into my face with a slap of supercooled air: winter is in the air.
My fingers are starting to feel as though they’ll start shaking in the cold. I rub my feet together and try to entangle my toes to generate some heat through friction. I’d like to shut the sliding door but that would turn off the ocean and all the random other sounds which are mixed in with the constant roar of the sea.
The brightest flash of lightning yet pulled me from my chair. I stood waiting for another flash that never came. Still, it’s cold out in the wind; lucky me, it’s just cold in here and not windy. So I watched the horizon for another minute or so, and then I heard the remnant of thunder that had traveled many a mile over the Pacific to reach us with its low rumble.
This then begs the question: if having heard the sound of a distant earthquake, was that, in fact, thunder? You see, I can’t say I’ve ever heard thunder from a storm that was more than about 30 seconds away. This thunder was at least 60 seconds, if not 90 seconds or more, after I saw the flash.
I’m not comfortable, and yet I am. I’m cold, but it’s the night’s embrace sharing itself with us. It’s the loneliness of the ocean keeping that kind of overbearing knowledge of vastness away from those of us whose nature would be swallowed by immensity if we were to encounter it on its own terms. Instead, we must only listen to its roaring song on the fringe of its edges.
The sound coming through the open door has become white noise that has lost a lot of its early character when, in the middle of the day, I was watching its illuminated waters so vigilantly and associating its sound characteristics with individual waves and encounters with parts of the landscape. Tonight, though, while I sit in front of its orchestra, I cannot simultaneously see the ocean and type at the same time. Outside, there’s just enough light to see a bit into the distance, but here, we only get to feel the moistened air that is the ocean’s exhale.
I take comfort in this experience that has so much to share that differs from what I find in my normal routine. One cannot simply turn on the cold any better here than a desert dweller can turn down the heat on a summer day. So if a vacation is to do something out of the ordinary as it compares to our daily habits, then maybe weather vacationing should be a thing. Live in Phoenix? Take a week of January in Minnesota to truly feel the different clime, allowing you to know that you are on a true vacation.
I should sleep now, but the cold has caffeinated me into a cramping shiver; I should close the door and allow the yawn to drag me off to comfort. Will I miss out on a special sound, such as a draft or howl of cold wind, that would offer yet another unforgettable memory? Such as the 70mph gales storm winds that drove Caroline and me from a New Year’s perch in a bird’s nest on a cliffside in Big Sur some years ago.
There’s so much nothing I think I’d rather be doing, and sleeping shouldn’t be one of them, but I must. I should try to be reasonable, though how should I know what for, when we are free to do what we will, until when we’d like to, as nothing is on our agenda? Oh well, I’ve sat here and dropped almost 900 words on the page that hardly feels like a thing was accomplished. Musing need not be reflective of genius but of a process that evolves.
