I am afraid of the water, that it will sweep me out into the expansive openness. I don’t like the gritty, dirty feel of sand on my skin. So why do I feel a wild oneness with the ocean?
I love the sound of the waves and the gulls crying. I love the soft sand under my feet and the cool, damp shoreline.
I love the idea of nature, the way it touches my four remaining senses, more and more…and less visually over the years, but I still say I prefer the safety, security, comfort of being indoors.
What is that oneness that still exists then?
It’s a connective cord I can’t break, couldn’t if I wanted to, even if I tried.
It’s what writing is. Writing is oneness.
I just wrote a piece of writing that was published on The Mighty, about Rare Disease Day, which is coming up next month.
I wrote it and it was accepted, after a few rejections before it. Now I don’t know what I wanted, expected when I wrote it.
I look for oneness, being one with someone through my words and thoughts and feelings.
I would spend my whole life there, feet in the sand, as the waves wash over my toes. I would never leave that place, that oneness and connection I have there, but this can’t be. And so I go there in my mind and instead…I write.
If you are curious what that means, check out the rules:
Linda’s contribution to the
is beautiful, and this coming from someone who does not exactly consider herself much of a fan of horses.
Though, it would be a little tricky to have a whale take me home while I slept on its back.