This morning, I woke early, thinking of the ocean. It’s a magnificent thing, that Pacific. From where I stand on the shore, it spans the horizon, wide and unknown, revealing occasional mysteries like a whale spout or towering waves.
I didn’t grow up at the ocean. I don’t have a long history with it that traces my childhood; I didn’t come of age among the surf. But I have fallen in love with it all the same, and now I’m waking at night, worried about it.
I am worried about so many things, in daytime and in slumber, when the tools I have for distraction are out of reach.
I like thinking about how there are things in the ocean, like in the heavens, that are totally unknown. I think it’s good for humans to be humbled, and nature is the best way to do that. I like imagining the whales I can’t see, but also the animals that are so far beyond my knowledge; so far beyond even my imagination. There are secrets there, and they are not for us.
Perhaps, I think in the middle of the night, we cannot cause too much pain there, though then I remember the trash, the way that fish and others get caught and killed in our careless debris. I remember how we change the climate and then the ocean is too warm and the animals have to migrate or the polar bears waste away.
I read this quote the other day which in part read, “the possibility of growth comes from confrontation with genuine feelings.” I found myself thinking of how the society we live in discourages that growth because the toxicity surrounding power denies vulnerability. I don’t understand how we have equated strength with stasis. To ignore when something isn’t working, to shut down the wellness barometer of our emotions, seems rather to me like foolishness, and far from strong. To then deny the necessity of growth that comes from understanding that we need to make new choices, that we need to take responsibility for things we have not done well, is to make us smaller.
A friend of mine, a social worker, has shared a different quote with me that speaks to the other side: When we know better, we do better. It’s so simple. We don’t have to have made the best choice all along if we didn’t know it was the best choice, the right thing. But once we do know it, we should do things differently.
We know better now about all sorts of things, including how to treat the earth; including how to treat one another. We should be doing better. To take care of this planet and the people in it, to recognize our deep, deep connection, is what will move us forward.
The ocean is so close that the sea air sprinkles salt in my hair; so close that I can hear those towering waves from my house, though I cannot see them. I have no doubt that it is much more powerful than we will ever be. I wonder when we will learn that. I wonder when we will understand that our time here is a gift, and is best shared: hands open, standing in awe on the shore.
