The wind is intense,

The air cold,

The ocean loud.

It’s not personal I kept thinking—

The way it’s pummeling the shore.

It’s not personal. 

Just yesterday it was quiet and still and warm.

I was sweating.

Now, the rocks are being rearranged by raging cold waters pushing in hard and fast.

A rain stick turned over on the sand,

There’s sea weed and wind whipping at feet—

Rough and energetic.

This beach is being pummeled.

It’s not personal, I kept thinking.

It’s not personal.

Which doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Or that the ground to place feet on is not unearthed.

Shells, boats and even lives get wrecked.

It’s just today I know the sand isn’t being punished and the waves aren’t exacting revenge.

The wind isn’t being mean.

Mother Nature can bring a storm, drenching souls in wet and cold.

But also this:

The waves that pulled me in,

Turned me over, held me

Up.

On nature’s water bed.

I could float, naked,

Backside down and

Face up,

Drinking air

Or sun

Or prayer.

The tides are just changing.

The tides are just changing.

Seasons too.

Storms brew and arrive,

Come in and recede.

Thank f*ck they always pass.

That can be counted on too.

It’s not personal. 

It’s not personal.

It’s not personal.

Still, my ears are cold.

The dog wants to fetch.

I’m not protected enough.

My fingers are icy stiff trying to fetch this ball.

I wish I had worn mittens

and had more time—

But it’s not personal

Kept washing up

Inside.

It felt like comfort.

It felt like truth.

The pummeling isn’t personal.

Sometimes it’s even beautiful.

Like you.

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Relephant read:

My Life as an Ocean: Finding a Sense of Calm in Chaotic Times.

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Author: Christine “Cissy” White

Editor: Khara-Jade Warren

Image: missdog/ Flickr

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