She was the primeval ocean and she emerged as herself of herself and all has come forth through and from her. She is self existent, and her nature is secret, a mystery to all.”
~ Egyptian Book of the Dead
The doors to the world of the wild Self are few but precious. If you have a deep scar, that is a door, if you have an old, old story, that is a door. If you love the sky and the water so much you almost cannot bear it, that is a door. If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.
~ Clarissa Pinkola Estés
We awoke before the day broke open, before the sun rose like a yolk cracked from a egg. Peeking out the window, my view was blurred by drifting haze…fog. Apparently the Sun preferred to remain unhatched and intended to sleep in, nestled and hidden under cozy cloudy covers. But we had other plans, my canine companion and I. With excitement and anticipation, we ventured out into the morning.
A soft day, as they say in Ireland. Magic danced just out of reach in the mist. I have never consider mist or fog to be murky or dreary, but rather cleansing and dreamy. Meditative. Contemplative.
Making our way towards the dunes, a deer gracefully leapt across our path. Deer. Sacred animal of peace, compassion for oneself and others, intuition and gentleness, as well as strength and fortitude.
I swiftly and eagerly mounted the sturdy, wooden, sandy steps, built across the dunes, so that I could catch a glimpse of her. There she stood, waiting. Elegant and majestic, she had a serene yet commanding presence. We silently communed, staring deeply into each other’s eyes, into each other’s souls. With a full heart, I communicated thanks for her presence and wished her well. She nimbly scampered off while I turned back towards the roar of the surf.
My eyes were drawn skyward by a formation of pelicans, braving the weather, hungry for breakfast. Pelicans were once almost driven to extinction. Their appearance speaks of resilience, determination, regeneration.
I had briefly considered bringing a hat to protect myself from the elements, but I immediately banished the thought. Today I preferred to be one with the elements. If I got wet, so be it. Rather than dampening my spirits, I would feel alive, part of the wild. Like the saying: “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass; it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” My soul craved an immersion with nature this morning.
If you have ever walked a beach during dense fog, you will be able to reach into your memory and feel it…the weight of the air, sodden with moisture yet refreshingly cool. Close your eyes and let the song of playfully crashing waves fill your soul. Inhale the cool salty breath of the sea. Feel serenity and peace wash over you. The spirit of the sea is a healing balm.
We were in our own enchanted world. Surrounded by ethereal fog, our only companions each other and occasional gaggles of seagulls and sand pipers, waiting out the weather. Churning, spraying waves frolicked to meet the shore. I envisioned millions of water droplets riding the waves like kids on a roller coaster…screaming and laughing with excitement and joy.
We alternately walked and ran, skipped and jumped, reveling in the solitude, in the freedom. At the end of our play, we were soaked and sandy, yet refreshed and elated. We returned to the Jeep, ending our mystical journey, emerging out of space and time, back to reality.
my trail name is dragonFly 
This is beautiful. Once again, your ability to create a vision with your writing is apparent. Before you mentioned that the reader might remember a time, I was remembering a time I was on the beach at the outer banks when fog rolled in heavy and fast. Everyone else left the beach while I loved the solitude and began walking, wrapped in an Indian blanket. That my have been a big beach towel, but my memory says otherwise. As I walked through the dense fog, I was one with the Universe. My spirit was flowing through me as I began singing in an American Indian language I had never heard before. My voice was loud and clear and rumbled through the fog for everyone to hear. But there were no ears to hear, these songs were for me. For healing and renewal. I love remembering.
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Susan, that is so beautiful! Thank you for sharing your memory; I love that you connected with native energies there 🙂 If you’ve never heard the Cherokee Morning Song, you’ll find it on YouTube. I sing it some mornings at the beach, especially as the sun starts to lift just over the horizon. A holy song for a sacred moment.
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