Janet and I took an early morning walk along Fort Myers Beach today. The weather was warm and the beach was quiet, with a steady, cool breeze blowing in from the Gulf. The beach is almost deserted this time of year with the temperatures lingering in the mid 90s. The tourists prefer the cooler weather of the winter season.
We walked quietly as we usually do; just the rhythmic whooshing of the waves and an occasional scream of a seagull breaking the silence. Thoughts about my recent article, and whether or not it was clearly written, finally surrendered to this exquisite silence, and Janet and I were just there with the sky, the clouds, the Gulf of Mexico, and that nothingness that is so indescribable when the mind is silent.
All my opinions and beliefs drifted away with the billowing clouds, and I found myself empty again. Maybe this is why we come here so often; to touch the emptiness that somehow infuses us with peace. When I walk on this beach, my agendas become unimportant; my articles, my thoughts only so many words on a piece of paper, just like the ones on this page. It matters not at all whether anyone reads the words, or agrees with them; they are only something that my heart expresses for some reason and I expect no more than that the freedom to write that which mysteriously comes from my heart.
This morning the sea was at low tide, with strings of seaweed covering the millions of seashells strewn along the sand. I picked up one of the smooth, shiny shells and wondered if anyone knew that the little animal that once belonged to it was born . . . and died. Probably not, there are millions of them on the beach.
I seemed so much more important than this little shell. It was insignificant, yet I seemed so significant. What is the truth of this matter? Am I as insignificant as this seashell, or is the little shell perhaps as significant as the universe? I looked back out across the gulf and unexpected emotion overwhelmed me, the familiar emotion thats prerequisite before my heart can write again, and suddenly no separation existed between the little shell and me.
A few tourists had now made their way from their hotels and were finding their special spots along the beach, probably doctors, attorneys, businesspersons, but I couldnt tell them apart from this beach, the Gulf, and myself. For a moment in time, there were no divisions.
The idea of me was gone, along with my ideals and beliefs that make me up. I had no doubts about life, or the beginning or ending of life; there can be no endings. I had no desires at all, and no animosity or annoyance toward anyone or anything.
For a moment, I didnt care what was to become of me, whether anyone knew if I was born, or would be there when I died... just like my seashell. I no longer knew anything, and nothing was there to figure out; it was just there, and that was enough.
Suddenly, in the middle of walking down this beach with its ramshackle crab shacks and cheerfully painted retail shops strewn along its brick paved walkways, I was home. But home was not only here at this beach, it was wherever I found myself now, and whether that involved this world or the next; I knew that it would be okay.
And then, as I watched the children playing in the water and listened to their laughter, I held my little seashell close to my heart... to let it know that I cared very much that it had lived once... and that it had died.
E. Raymond Rock of Fort Myers, Florida is cofounder and principal teacher at the Southwest Florida Insight Center, http://www.SouthwestFloridaInsightCenter.com His twenty-eight years of meditation experience has taken him across four continents, including two stopovers in Thailand where he practiced in the remote northeast forests as an ordained Theravada Buddhist monk. His book, A Year to Enlightenment (Career Press/New Page Books) is now available at major bookstores and online retailers. Visit http://www.AYearToEnlightenment.com
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