This morning I rounded the corner to the sea front and the tide was in, the sun newly risen. It glittered across the surface of the calm sea, and the tears came.
Tears of happiness, of gratitude, of relief and of freedom. I stood and watched the tide, now at its highest, breathe and crash against the sea wall, submerging the man-made breakwaters as if ignoring them. The waves crashed against the wall and exploded into a million golden diamonds, before retreating to allow infant waves to try their best to crash. Instead they flopped gently, just short of the wall, and then chased each other back to join the big waves gathering a few metres out.
A seagull lazily bobbed just far enough out to enjoy the swell but not be carried to the shore. It was content to just submit to the rhythm of the sea. A couple flew overhead to join a small gaggle on the shore further up at their morning commune.
The breeze was crisp and with a faint chill, with a deep breath I could smell salt and seaweed and sunlight as it washed away the damp of the night. The sound of the waves receding over the rough shingle was musical and three-dimensional. I sat and breathed in sync with the waves.
The sea shore was deserted bar the community of sea birds and a few fishermen further down. I see them most mornings, even said hello to a few of them. As I sat there I wondered whether they looked at the sunrise over the sea in the same way that I did. They must find fishing meditative. What do they think about? What do they aspire to? Do they look out of the sea in the morning and voice their gratitude like I do? Do they breathe with the ebb and flow fo the waves? Do they stare in awe at the sunlight glittering on the surface like a great molten gold crevasse in the blue? I feel sure they must have, at some point.
To walk along the sea front every morning to greet the tide is a blessing, and when I finish my meditation I walk back to my home. The tide is now on its way out and a lone car passes. The world is waking up and I have a book to write.