The Vast, Reminder of the Small…
Wind wiping through the ears, the sun a burning seed in the sky, yet your skin does not feel heat but a warm embrace. These large stones under your feet, with a threat to shift at any second deceive and refuse to move, providing safety. Protecting you from the rushing calamity of the waves below, drudging against the side of this path you travel, out out out into the distance. You reach the edge, and cast a gaze back inland. So far away now… the bridge connecting two islands, the sandy beach that is struck from a Dali painting. Standing upon the precipice of the Pacific, the furthest west man labels on a map of this country on shore.
These waves, their majesty, their power, their comfort; “How small we truly are.”
It was a night in Washington when I felt what I could only describe as a respectable terror in my gut. With my rental car in tow, I drove to a nearby park just hoping to make the most of this travel required for my work at the time. Pitch black, behind locked barriers and outside the parks curfew, I ventured into the night hoping to experience new wonderful things. Besides the occasional frightening jostle from the broken road accosting my tires, the ride was pleasant, a symphony of video friends with lets plays I had watched over the years.
It took about thirty minutes for me to reach the edge of the beach, park and leave the safety of my car.
At first the rushing of wind had thrown hard, strong enough to blow a man avoirdupois of 200 over in the more mild of pushes. Dunes on either side had allowed my feet to dig into the sand, halting the discomfort of being thrown by just a little.
What had delivered the greatest shock, however, was the vast empty sight. Nothing. The rental had closed its eyes to sleep till its next journey, and without any light to aid me, the moon hiding in the night sky behind thick grey clouds, the lines of the sea and land had vanished betraying me to the great unknown. Sound and feeling were my only companions aiding my sense of certainty. It is only in recent time I have been told of my better vision at night than most. Perhaps from my days of hiking in the woods as a kid among my friends in the troop. On this night however, nothing of that mattered.
The loud booming sounds of the sea below had reminded me of one simple thing. Its power, impossible to control, existing with or without sight.
I am so small.
My home town never experienced waves like these, overwhelming the ears with push after push. Here upon the dark sand that laid before me was a choice I could make; outlandish bravery, or scared humility. Would I walk towards the shoreline and dip my feet in the water to say hello or would I stay close to my car in this pitch black night and admire from afar? Thoughts were few in the large expanse of time, empty like the sky around me. It was only when I saw a pair of lights in the distance, another vehicle traveling the beach, that I was broken from my trance.
Knowing I was not alone, though they were miles away, was a comfort in itself. The risk of facing authority past hours however inclined me to make that choice faster. I was far from home, far from anyone in my heart. It was time to visit the hotel and pack for the plane.
I sighed and closed my eyes for the sake of my spirit and took a deep breath, felt the wind pierce my skin but not so cold on this summer night. The connection I feel with this wind, a conversation with a friend of times old, my companion, my element, holding debate with this foreign ocean for the focus of my ears. A moment passed, and then I reached into my pocket, flicking the light on of my phone, a slight pause….
My choice was a good one. Not but two feet forward was a drop of fifteen, in loose sand, and past that a wreckage on the coast. Battered by time and poor weather, this amalgamation of wood surly would be the splinter we all cried from as a kid, if not a stake to meet a fictional creature’s end. The return to the safety of my windows and doors would have been a hard one at best.
The dark ocean crashed once again, reminding me of its presence.
A gentle thank you escaped my lips.
Power does not make things scary, and their is a gentle love in strength.
A reminder, of the scale of my own life, but the value of my own soul. For even the ocean and wind can be friends to a man as tiny as me.
The pop of a door handle, the shuffle of clothing on pleather, the click of an ignition, and a departure.
The dark of the night, alone again, two friends still sharing pleasantries. I hope to bid them a good day again once I return.