You're Invited! Dare We Open the Invitation?
Reflecting on Ocean-Staring, Sand, and the Ever-Summoning Waters of Rebirth
Martha’s Vineyard has a lot to commend, but I wonder if chief among the offerings is that which likely goes overlooked by most island tourists: the Long Point Wildlife Refuge.
I joined with two friends from growing up for a hike through the Refuge last month. We took a trail that led to a beach with wonderfully clear waters, white sand, and complete emptiness. There was no one else in either direction for as far as the eye could see.
We marveled aloud, and then one of my friends quietly sat down and stared at the ocean. I hesitated. I thought about sand getting on my pants and how much I would dislike those little granules sticking around the rest of the day.
(Trying to convince myself to sit in the sand)
And then I realized that seemed a ridiculous concern given the opportunity before us. Let the sand come!
The three of us were soon seated in a row with nothing to say because the ocean invites the ears and eyes and nose far more than the mouth. I am not sure anyone has adequately put into words precisely why the waves can so quiet us, but they do.
Is it something about the ever-remaking boundary between water and land? We are enchanted by boundaries. And also boundaries broken and boundaries fluid.
Or is it the way the invisible and visible collide? Coalesce? Play together? We love our things. And also metaphors that make clear all the visible things we hold are portals to something invisible and sacred.
Maybe it’s the music? The persistent rhythm so full and slow and then surprisingly light and quick.
Like the large wave that flattened to a pianissimo and then quickly furled itself up the dry shore far further than we expected.
Was it going to get us wet?
I felt my foot want to pull back, but instead I held without movement.
On this particular day, I kept thinking how the waves felt like an invitation. A summons, even.
A summons unto…
Waters where the ecosystem I am used to no longer works.
Waters where survival entails flailing for control and thriving entails learning to float.
Waters where the Undertow is not to be resisted but received - even if the eyes thought surely the other direction was the desirable way.
Waters that may be terrifying, yes. Waters that may drown, yes. But only unto a rebirth. Only unto a new vitality.
Satiating Waters.
I didn’t retreat.
I think I wondered what it would feel like for the summons to touch me. Maybe pull me forward ever-so-slightly. Perhaps surprise with its cold vitality.
The invitation didn’t reach that far - not quite. Not yet.
But it was coming. Everywhere I looked I saw evidence of a shrinking shoreline. And to think, I had been worried about a little sand getting on my pants.
—
We spend a lot of our lives trying to avoid a mess. Grass stains on the dress. Sand on the jeans. Awkward conversations from the heart. Difficult decisions that might make us more vulnerable.
But what if we let ourselves sit in it awhile? And what if right there in the mess we had a clear view of the Water before us? What if right there our ears could hear it better?
What if a little moment away from…
the pristine,
the put-together,
and the safe
…was the first step in giving the soul space to be reached by those ever-summoning waters of rebirth?
Because the safe shoreline is surely shrinking. And I guess we could retreat further back (for a time, at least).
Or recognize that whether by way of…
friend
or enemy
or silence
or book
or smell
or meal
or opportunity
or failure
or song
or wave…
…the Waters are reaching out. An Invitation is at hand.
(Taking photos of the Invitation)