The ocean is made of healing waters. An entity so vast yet intimate you feel tiny, but understood. For me, the ocean is a sacred place. Where comfort and peace reside. Last Friday, I ran into the open arms of the sea.  Longing to be enveloped by the cool, soothing waters. To float on the ocean, limbs dangling off my board in the calm fluidity. To let it all go and surrender my every thought and feeling.  And in my mind, get swept away by the rolling waves.

Last Friday was the funeral for my sweet friend Yolanda, whose death sent shock waves through my mind and soul.  I have been to many funerals lately. This however is the first time I have had to say good-bye to a friend.  Someone whom I adored and who died too soon.  This is the first time I am feeling the anguish of losing a friend. The sobering thought that occupied my mind is that it won’t be the last.

My body was at the service sitting in the pews, glancing intermittently at the sweet picture of Yolanda, but my mind was far away.  It was at the last soccer game I cheered at with her.  It was recalling the conversation when she told me she had cancer.  It was remembering her constant, infectious smile.  My mind was also at her house, although I’ve never been there, curious about the final conversations she had with her husband and daughters.  It was wondering when they knew it was the end.  It was following her girls to school wondering how they would get through their days.  My mind was reeling.

My mind was also pondering, as it always does at funerals, my own mortality. How would my kids fair with my death?  What would I like at my service?  And of course, if I were to die tomorrow, would I die happy?

This last question has many layers to it but the short version I think is yes!  Have I accomplished everything I would like? No.  Do I have hopes and dreams I have yet to fulfill.  Absolutely.  Have I done and seen all I need to?  Definitely not!! But would I die happy?  The answer is YES!!  Yes, because I have loved and been loved.  Loved by parents, grand parents, siblings, my husband, my children and friends.  Should I die soon, I would not have lived a full life but I would have died with a full heart.  This realization was a direct impact of Yolanda’s spirit on me and she, I know felt the same.

After this intense, emotional day I was feeling drained and heavy-hearted.  All I could think of to give me some sort of relief was to get into the ocean.  It was sweltering out and I was anxious to cleanse myself in the crisp ocean waters and to rid myself of the burdens that are mine on land.

I sped home, changed, grabbed my board and headed to the beach.  As I stood on the shoreline and looked at the massive expanse of the sea, I realized that the vast waters matched my sadness.  I waded in, getting deeper and deeper, allowing the cool liquid to wash over me.  I succumbed to the natural movement of the waves and let the tide overcome the voice in my mind.  My board and I became one with the rhythmic motion of the swell.

There were other surfers out but I was oblivious to them.  The waves were small and forgiving but it wasn’t about the conditions or the line up.  I concentrated on the soothing sounds of the waves folding over onto the shore. I soaked up the rays of sunshine on my face.  I quieted my mind and repetitively paddled for waves, popped up, rode until the end, and turned around to do it again and again.  This was my meditation.

The ocean has a way of doing that.  Soothing you.  Cleansing you.  Baptizing you.  Washing you clean of worries.  You leave your troubles on the shore and for a few precious moments you are at peace.  You are one with nature,  the universe, and with yourself.

When I got out of the water that day, my sadness did return.  Oftentimes the weight of the world is too overwhelming for even the healing ocean waters. And although the peace I gain from the ocean is hard to duplicate on land, I know I have a place to go to find tranquility.  A place that will cease the chatter in my mind and help me find rest.  A place I can start to heal.

Salty Kisses,

Karen