When I wake up in the middle of the night and have trouble going back to sleep I have a visualization routine I follow. If I am consumed with nagging thoughts about the day ahead, something I have to do, just stuff, I picture myself standing on a bridge over a flowing stream. I stand there and just watch the water flowing and just toss the thoughts and let them float away.
At other times, where there is nothing really going on, or when the stream won’t flow I always have a go to scene. I am at the beach walking towards the ocean. Many times I see Jesus sitting on a dune, his back to me, inviting me to just come and sit and listen to the ocean.
Sunday night I woke up at 3:15, thought racing through my head, not just of things to come but things long past. After turning over several time in my mind I made my way down to the stream. I walked through some woods, picking up some thought-sticks to toss into the stream. But when I got there, the stream was flowing in the wrong direction. As much as I tried I couldn’t get it flowing ‘right.’
Time to change channels.
I found myself on the shore. I was walking through the sand, only this time no one was there. I kept walking knowing that I would just go sit and listen and that would be okay. I would be able to fall back asleep.
Only, I couldn’t hear the ocean. I could see the waves, but…..
There was no sound.
I got out of bed and wandered around the house for half an hour until I thought I could fall asleep again. But I was haunted by the silence of my ocean.
When I woke up, as I was going through my morning “internet routine” of checking email, Twitter, Facebook, Michael Lake had posted a video from the Isle of Palms, where I used to ride my bike, where our family had Sunday Night Pizza on the Beach. It was “Two minutes of peace at sunrise,” with the sound of the waves.
I found myself crying.
Martinique Beach, NS
When Anita came downstairs I told her I needed to go to the ocean. We have water close by, but I needed to hear the waves. So we loaded up the car and headed for Martinique Beach, on the Atlantic Ocean. We parked the car, put on our toque (that is a cap for you Americans!) and walked down to this wide expansive sandy beach. And there were waves, and the sound…..
And I found myself crying.
My soul needed to hear the ocean. It was the sound of my soul being renourished.
I remembered the wonderful poem Sea Fever by John Masefield:
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
I heard the ocean and last night I slept. All night.