I take a moment to sit by the sea today. This is not unusual, and I am grateful for that, but the weeks lately have been particularly dense, and it feels that time has been wiggly in it’s own teenage-rebellion kind of way. So this moment of stillness is necessary and welcome. I sit on the edge of a grass covered cliff, which seems to have risen straight up from the sand and the sea below, and I dangle my feet over the edge. I feel supported by the grass beneath my sit bones. The clay cliffs support my calves.
A peaceful man sits on a bench beside me. He brings good company: a large, ice-white dog and a guitar. My new neighbor begins to strum his guitar and hums. He does this quietly, like a whisper of gratitude to the sea. I decide to whisper too, in gratitude as well, in my own way. I sit and give undivided focus and attention to sea. I express gratitude that within all the movement of the world abounding, stillness can exist. I am grateful not just for this duality, but for all of the dualities of living.
Just as I send these beams out, a bird flies directly towards me. It is flying lower than normal, almost meeting me at eye level. It glides about 3 feet beyond my forehead, between me and the horizon line. It hovers there for just a moment, like a hummingbird might, then it turns like a hair pin on one wing and glides along a current of air. I watch this movement. For the seagull, it seems like and effortless, yet still intentional action.
So just like that, this seagull has gifts me a secret to life…
It does not call to me. It does not or speak to me in tones, tongues, or channels. No, this gift is the subtle kind. This is a gift in observation. For it is showing me, teaching me through its action. I watch this creature exert the very little force, flowing with the wind and following the way. It isn’t overthinking or anxiety-ridden. This seagull isn’t paralyzed by choice. This seagull is flying above the sea. This seagull is in fact soaring, quite easily and peacefully.