The ocean waves pounded the sandy shores, a tranquil violence. The noises of my modern cocoon, the constant bombardment of the superficial, were forgotten for the moment. It had been too long since I could hear nature in her elemental spontaneity, calling out to me, her prodigal son. My feet felt the sediment shift to and fro, sensing the inimitable rush of the waves journeying to shore. Standing knee-deep in the ocean, its vastness freed me, if only momentarily, from my neuroses. From whence we came, we shall return. But the technical world - its networks of minutia, massive hollow dreams, and the deprived awareness of individualism – is controllable. It feeds a faux-sovereignty where the individual thinks he exercises control over nature. But these waves will, as they have before, sweep the illusory away, leaving the technical paradise desolate, exposing its facility. Modern man, that arrogant, capable, self-willing creature, presents problems only he can answer. The integral relationship with nature, as it is with humans, does not hinge on answers. Relationship requires thoughtful silence and response. An imbalanced fascination with material accumulation has detached knowledge from wisdom and body from spirit. The being of man, his animality, and his innate tie to the unknown and unforeseen is too often displaced in favour of the rational, knowable, and predictable. From whence we came, we shall return.
Soon I reached the end of the beach, and ostensibly the end of my sojourn. But before I reached the carefully placed concrete path leading back to my vehicle, I saw a formation of beach wood. It was an address to play, a call to exorcise my constrictions. After inspecting my surroundings, I noticed the very distant figure of an elderly couple and their dog, thus banishing the bashful fear of embarrassment. I looked anxiously at the beach wood logs laying precariously on top of each other. I readied my body and tried not to topple under the weight of my own self-consciousness. But regardless of caution, I slipped and toppled, crumbling into a pile of small wood chips. Although the fall stunned me momentarily, it didn’t inflict any deeper wounds. And almost by impulse, I looked for the mocking laughs of the playground. None were forthcoming. I smiled. I had to fall in order to believe that I could walk without the weight of all those things unnecessary to my being. I picked myself up, readied myself again, and navigated atop the beach wood. Sure, there still was anxiety in my steps, still cognizant of what abyss may lie below, but my steps were invigorated with an unfamiliar confidence – accepting the possibility of the fall. I hopped from log to log, never recalling my initial failing. Alas, it is always too easy to speak of freedom, to pontificate endlessly about liberty; but it is the simplest joys – the ability to tightrope along beach wood – that allows one to live free, to laugh at failure and, if for only an instant, to be something other than the unsure self of neurosis. Free is that timeless moment of exposure to the unknown.
