“The one thing which we seek with insatiable desire is to forget ourselves, to be surprised out of our propriety, to lose our sempiternal memory and to do something without knowing how or why; in short to draw a new circle.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Earlier this year, I visited Scott. Scott owns a coffee shop where he is part-barista mostly-philosopher and I am ostensibly visiting to learn more about one of my passions—coffee.

As an introduction, he stared at a cloudy, translucent liquid he holds aloft, swirling it around the clear plastic cup, then asked,

“What’s your favorite ocean?”

“Pardon?”

“Favorite ocean. What’s your favorite?”

I don’t have a clue and mumble an answer, “Atlantic, I think.”

“What’s it taste like?” He continues to swirl the liquid, round and round, not taking his eyes from the cup.

“Salty.”

“Too easy. What else? Don’t tell me what everyone else says.”

“I don’t know. Silky? Warm.”

“Better. Here. Taste this.”

He hands me the cup and I sip. It’s salt water.

He watches me closely. “Did you know that there are elements in sea water found throughout the universe, my friend? You’re not tasting salt. You’re tasting stuff in there that makes up you and me. You, me, planets and stars. You’re tasting the universe. Taste it again.”

I went on to learn a great deal about coffees that day, but that’s not what I remember most.

As I write this, it’s a cold, rainy Monday morning. There are lists about me filled with items I need to do, things I need to accomplish today and this week. I have my coffee beside me but am thinking about the sea.

Where is my spirituality in moments like these? Where is it when duties and chores turn days into dominos, one toppling into the next, converting breath and life into routine and repetition?

I gaze at oak trees, naked in the rains, outside my window and think of an Irish blessing:

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind always be at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

and rains fall soft upon your fields.

How many days and moments have I missed because I ducked my head and charged toward hard and blustery winds, turning so the sun burned my neck and back? How many times have their strength caused to me bend and bow to where I only look down, seeing my own shoes, to a point I forget about that which exists beyond my next step?

It is during these times I am disconnected, not because the universe has withdrawn but rather because I have forgotten that which I need to remember and remember that which I should constantly forget. My ego tries to figure out who I am and what I should be doing, pushing me forward, driving toward some external expectation or demand.

What I really need are things to remind me of the mystery of life and of this world. While my ego requires sameness, certainty, clarity, and answers, who I really am lives in the mystery inherent in the questions that, with understanding, leads to greater questions.

I need reminding that my life is not about my own shoes but rather about the feet of all, the connection among all. It is about that connection which causes me to turn, putting the wind at my back and lifting my face upward toward the sun, to feel warmth, and light and life. I need to remember I am a part of the universe, a part of a mysterious alliance, a movement, waiting for me to participate.

“Jars of spring water are not enough anymore; being contained is not enough. Take us down to the river and then, eventually, to the ocean, the shoreless ocean.” ~ Rumi

I need to remember to forget myself so that I can draw new circles without knowing or caring how or why. I need for my circles to spin such that I lose me and align with the stars then  scatter them like dust such that I might align anew and fresh again. I need to remember how to get lost and to trust and live in the mystery inherent in such lostness and embrace it as the friend and guide it always is.

“The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe—to match your nature with Nature.” ~ Joseph Campbell

I want to feel my heartbeat again and use it to find my rhythm, then match it with the rhythms of the universe. I want my thoughts and movements to be part of a dance in which I do not lead, but one that is perfect movement and timing.

This past year I returned to my “favorite” ocean and on a starry night, I found a quiet stretch of beach and walked into the waters. Arms outstretched with palms open to the sky, the tides surged against me, swirled around and between my legs—tides moving in, rushing out, sands shifting beneath my feet, between my toes and in the balancing act I found a rhythm.

As the moon tugged the waters around me, I lowered, kneeling down into the sand and took a taste of saltwater into my mouth. I felt it around my tongue, then opened my lips, allowing it to return to the surf. The waters washed around me as I looked into the night sky, beyond this world to the stars and felt at peace.

On this day, I search and find a bag of souvenirs from that trip and retrieve a small shell, still holding a bit of sand inside.

I move my coffee mug and lists aside and place it where I can see it often and remember.

Author: Terry Price

Editor: Emily Bartran

Photo: Fredo/Flickr