Finding Peace & Plenty in Two Square Feet of Beach

You’d think that living in a place like Boulder, Colorado, I’d be well grounded in the art of contemplation, what with all the practitioners of Buddhist meditation and advanced yoga who are my neighbors.  But as a mother of two busy children, and a wife, and a writer and academic juggling a full-time mix of part-time writing and teaching work, I’m lucky if I can find time to walk my dog by noon, let alone savor the meadowlark’s song as the sun crests the pasture east of my house, while I sit reverently with a cup of fresh-ground morning coffee. 

During my travels this summer I’ve mused a lot on slowing down, which seems ironic – why does it seem to take being on the move to remind me how important it is to move more slowly?  Actually, however, it’s been the moments of not-moving while I’ve been away that have been so arresting.  Today held one of them, on a crescent of beach in the far northwest corner of Washington.  Might there be a lesson here for you, too?

My kids have been spending the week at a YMCA camp in the San Juan Islands while I relish seven days of solitude, the first significant time I’ve spent alone in over a year.  Amidst each day of writing and reading, I take a hike – through thick forest, around a mountain lake, and today, to a walk-in beach at Obstruction Pass State Park on Orcas Island.

I found a bleached hunk of driftwood for a backrest and sat down, digging my toes into the tiny rocks and swirling them around to bring the moist stones beneath to the surface.  I began to look more closely at the thousands of wave-washed pebbles at my side.

The range of colors was amazing.  From a distance, the beach looks dark gray.  Up close, it’s a muted rainbow: lavender, charcoal, dark blue, maroon, gold, smoky green, white granite mottled with black flecks, smooth taupe dotted with cream spots, the occasional ‘wishing rock’ with a perfect white band, or several thin lines of white on deep purple. 

I began to collect them.  Those with the most perfect dimensions.  The smoothest surface.  A compelling shape.  The most intricate granite color combination: pink, white, black and pale gray.  At least one in every color, including plum and teal.  I lined them up on a driftwood log.  I realized I had taken my specimens from a patch of beach not more than two feet square – and the island is wreathed in millions, probably billions, of these pebbles.  They had captivated me for the better part of an hour, punctuated with interludes of closing my eyes, feeling the sun on my bare shins, listening to the minute lapping of the waves, inhaling slow breaths of salt-scented air. 

At last I got up to go, shoving my pebbles into the pockets of my jeans.  I thought about how effortlessly children entertain themselves on a beach, as I had.  When I get home I am going to put my beach rocks in a jar, maybe set a candle inside, and keep it to remind myself of what depths can be found in a small square of space.

What I want to remember is that I do not need to leave my home to make such discoveries, to find beauty and insight.  Is there somewhere you could take just such a ‘mini vacation’ for an hour, to immerse yourself in a swatch of nature and experience it with all your senses?  Walk a country road, sit on a bench in a city park.  Really see, hear, smell, and feel.  Illuminations can be just out the door.

Contemplative travels,

Wendy