In Beauty

Acknowledging and participating in nature's ancient cycles

With beauty all around me, may I walk.
In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.
In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.
It is finished in beauty.
It is finished in beauty.. .from an Old Navajo Prayer

Growing up in the center of rows of endless cornfields in rural Illinois, all I could dream about back then was living near the sea.

Every summer I would break out our family’s rusty green lounge chair, straddle my two legs on either side of the chaise, and wiggle my toes in the tiny blowup swimming pool beneath me. I would toss a sand bucket of collected sea shells from our various trips to Florida, just to make the experience feel as authentic as possible. I’d lay back with my dad’s vintage Wayfarers on and his wide brim straw hat from Sanibel Island, and pretend I was drifting in the cooling tidewaters of the Gulf. .

For a long while, working as a teaching professor, I woke up to the glistening sun on choppy beachside waters in my South Loop Chicago condo. But when I moved to Europe after the pandemic, it took me a few years to find just the right spot in Sant Martí that would offer an unobstructed view of the sea.

Now, every morning, I stand in front of my patio window, cold brew in hand, and marvel at the shifting patterns of the coastal clouds over the Mediterranean, the sun bringing in jewel tones of orange, royal purple, and lavender. I don’t ever miss a moment to bow my head in gratitude for this priceless view.

Before I came to this somewhat remote area of Barcelona, I lived in the historic but often frenetic barrio of Gràcia. Every night the cobblestones were crowded with people strolling about, looking for the coziest tavernas or the best tapas restaurant. I loved being caught up in the froth of the frenzied mob and living in the heartbeat of the neighborhood on Calle Verdi, the spine of the barrio. I quickly found my close community there.

And yet, something was missing.

My whole life, I’ve been drawn to living near the beach—to wandering the sandy shores in order to listen to the crash of the waves and the seagulls calling from up above. Living near the Mediterranean coast now has taught me three important lessons about life and they are in alignment with what author Anne Morrow Lindbergh addresses in her classic guide for living, Gift from the Sea.

In this essential tome she affirms, “Perhaps this is the most important thing for me to take back from beach-living: simply the memory that each cycle of the tide is valid; each cycle of the wave is valid; each cycle of a relationship is valid.”

Cycle of the Tide

As I walk barefoot along Llevant Beach in my neighborhood, I notice tiny fragments of seashells clinging to my wet skin. Polished rocks appear, along with scattered driftwood and ropy seaweed, which have been left by the retreating tides. This cycle of the tide occurs mostly because of the gravitational pull of the Moon, along with the Earth’s rotation, causing the sea level to rise and fall approximately every six hours. The tide cycle at sea typically consists of two high tides and two low tides each day and this is known as a semi-diurnal cycle.

For me the great lesson from the tides is to walk steadily, and depending on the time of day, understand that there are things that will be hidden, and things that will be revealed. The sea teaches patience, forbearance, endurance.

I know that when I see a beautiful shell in the morning, I should pick it up at that perfect split-second, because later in the afternoon, it will be covered over, like so many other treasures. Act in the instant as your heartbeat instructs you to and respect that when gifts from the sea (or from life itself) reveal themselves, it’s their time.

Be patient. Be ready. Be certain. Trust.

Cycle of the Wave

Sea waves have a particular and unique life cycle as they approach the shore. From my vantage point at the beach, I see a tiny ripple become a full-fledged wave, gaining momentum, velocity, and size. As it crashes upon the shore, it has reached the end of its lifecycle and then its energy slowly draws back into that magnificent body of water.

According to author Drew Kampion writing in The Book of Waves: Form and Beauty on the Ocean, “From birth to maturity to death, a wave is subject to the same laws as any other ‘living’ thing, and—like other living things—each wave assumes for a time a miraculous individuality that, in the end, is reabsorbed into the great ocean of life.”

I’m constantly reminded, I can’t hold onto that wave. I can’t “ride the wave endlessly” as I once did as a boy in the Atlantic Ocean when I would “body surf” with my brother all afternoon. “I’m limited,” as Elphaba reminds us in the musical Wicked. I simply can’t capture the essence, the power, the mystery of that unique and complicated natural phenomenon known as a wave. But I can learn from it.

For me, it’s easy to draw a comparison with life itself—just as a wave is born from the great womb of the ocean, so too does a human life—hopefully reaching it’s maturity and full potential—before all too soon, it crashes.

Cherish each precious moment, acknowledging the great mystery, the eternal source, and respect that as this phenomena “breaks apart” at the end of its lifecycle—it is thus, also taken back to source, or “reabsorbed” as Kampion states, perhaps to return again.

Cycle of a Relationship

Anne Morrow Lindbergh affirms that coastal living can finally offer great lessons about the cycle of a relationship.

There are literally thousands of books and practices that dissect the various stages that occur when you are pursuing a relationship. The only one I’m focusing on here is the last stage (a cycle we might hope for) which is commitment: a mutually understood agreement or pledge acknowledging not only an attachment to the other, but a desire to maintain and work on the bond that is formed therein.

And I suppose this is where Morrow calls upon the first two cycles—tide and wave, as foundational points to understand more keenly, the third cycle: relationship. I’m staying committed now, at this point in my life, to carefully examining and understanding my own relationship with myself first, and acknowledging that this is the crucial lens to examine all other bonds in my life.

I wander my neighborhood beach these days, embracing my third act (as Jane Fonda likes to refer to life after sixty) and try to gauge exactly not only which cycle of relationship I am in with myself, but the quality of it: Am I showing up to deeply listen and engage with my soul prompts? Have I fully committed to offering myself the best I can in life? Am I allowing myself the opportunity to be stripped of artifice in order to be vulnerable and fully feel and breathe through those blocks and challenges that keep recurring and have been present, perhaps from childhood?

I can only try and do my best, and hope that maybe tomorrow, I can do better.

I return to where I began with this essay, to an Old Navajo Prayer. As I wander along the shore, with gulls calling ahead, tides changing, and waves crashing, I repeat to myself:

In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.
It is finished in beauty.

It is finished in beauty.

Resources

The Chisholme Institute is a powerful resource for a variety spiritual practices. Please take a moment to engage with the full Old Navajo Prayer

I’m such a huge fan of Anne Morrow Lindberg (and I was so thrilled to recently discover that my sister-in-law is also enamored with her writing) and if you haven’t yet picked up her classic book, Gift From the Sea, I urge you to do so. This summer might be the perfect time to allow yourself to wade deep into her priceless wisdom.

(All photos by Gerard Wozek or in alignment with Creative Commons.)