I just finished a fishing book by Jessica Maxwell. In it she professes her love for water saying that she became a woman of oceanic rhythms by default. If that’s the case I know I became one by design. Definitely. Born less than five miles from the Atlantic to a mother born and raised in Maine, the ocean’s salt air was in my lungs before I took my first breath.
I am hungering for an oscitant Sunday by the sea. I have been this way; had this longing for weeks. In truth, I want to stand before the surf and let it belittle me. Make me feel weak and useless. I want to kiss the spray, taste the salt on my tongue and devour the power of the surf. Bring me back better than before. Humbled, I want to kneel before tidal pools, peer into their depths, looking for life more exotic than on land, more purposeful than my own. Take me there. Just take me.
Toni Childs sings a beautiful, haunting song called “Where’s the Ocean?” (off her album, ‘Union’). Her voice is mesmerizing. Yet, at this point in my psyche all I can do is cry whenever I hear it. I am a fish out of water, barely breathing. Gasping and struggling, trying to make sense of the here and now when all I want is to be there as soon as yesterday. Put me back. Please.