Written on March 26, 2018, by the Mediterranean Sea in Netanya, Israel

Breathe in

Breathe out

I have read that it is healthier to live by the sea.  You breathe better.  And I certainly drift into a dreamless sleep, and then drift back into consciousness.  It is the most wonderful sleep, and I am very grateful for it.

Sleep without care, sleep without worry.  And today the gentle wind made my sleep by the sea all the better.

I did not agonize over this being the last time I’ll sleep beside you.  No trauma over having to leave your soothing gentleness and the state of sleeping grace you somehow transport me into.

I came to Israel — and I found …. peace and simple gratitude for how you make me feel by purifying my mind.

Lihitraot.  (Goodbye)  Ahava. (Love)

Breathe in

Breathe out

Namaste

Written on March 25, 2018, next to the Mediterranean Sea in Netanya, Israel.

Breathe in

Breathe out

I was sorry to leave you last time all grayish and wettish.  Today, when I saw the sun and the bluegreen of your water and the solid blue of the sky, I felt happy to think of saying goodbye to a more normal you.  You see, I’ll be away a long time now — maybe forever.

But, being close to you today, I can tell you are all riled up.  The sun is warm, but the wind is strong and cold.

Are you telling me we need to accept what we cannot change, what we cannot control?  Perhaps, but that’s probably anthropomorphizing  just a bit too much by putting meaning where there is only chance.

Your voice is strong today too as the white waves roll in.  No delicacy in you today.  Is there some message in that?  Prepare for the unpredictable maybe?  Or, are you just pleasing yourself and not caring about connecting?

Ah, you are most likely simply responding to subtleties in nature I have no understanding of.

Just be you, and I’ll appreciate you as you are and thank you anyway for being with me these past 3 months.  For sure I’ll miss you, but not expect you to miss me.  We are kin, but we are not one.

While I walk, I wonder why the noise of the sea soothes me, but the noise of a crying child or a motor bike revving up drives me nuts.

Then, as I pondered why I am so sure there is a mind/body connection, and less clear about communication between humans and nature, chance brought a friend onto the same path by the sea as I was on.

We sat by you for quite a long time, watching the sunset and animatedly discussing a wide range of topics.  You faded into an accompaniment to two humans speaking the same language enjoying being together by the sea.  Diversity between humans and nature has beauty, but so does warm conversation between two humans, accompanied by nature.

Breathe in

Breathe out

Namaste

 

Written on March 24, 2018, near the Mediterranean Sea in Netanya, Israel.

Breathe in

Breathe out

Are you angry at me because I’m leaving Israel in a matter of days?  Your waves are moving fast and loudly.  The sky is a cloudy mass.  The sun peeks in and out.

I came today with a bittersweet sense of our time together running out.  Over these past 3 months, I have seen you in many moods — both mine and yours.  Your company has meant a great deal to me.  We are certainly not equal, but we are both offspring of Mother Nature.  That makes us kin.

Since I cannot take you with me, I will only take the sense of you.  Will that be enough?  It will, after all, have to do.  But I will miss you terribly even so.

Breathe in

Breathe out

Namaste

Written on March 20, 2018, by the Mediterranean Sea in Netanya, Israel

Breathe in

Breathe out

I sit by you as day is about to turn into night.  And then I think about tomorrow night when I will be totally engulfed by stars in a place that has very little light pollution to diminish the impact.

I remember the feeling best from long ago when I went hiking in the Sinai, slept outside, and woke up in the middle of the night with endless stars as far as I could see.  Hopefully, I will have that feeling again in Mitzpe Ramon in the Negev desert.

The sea touching the earth.  The stars touching the heavens.  And then, in between, are we humans who just can’t seem to figure it all out.

There are humans.  And there is nature.  We are somehow connected.  But, oh, how better off nature would be without humans.

Breathe in

Breathe out

Namaste

 

Written by the Mediterranean Sea on March 17, 2018, in Netanya, Israel.

Breathe in

Breathe out

Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

I almost didn’t come to you today.  Shabbat (Saturday) is a busier day by the sea, and I prefer having you to myself.  But, as sunset approached, I heard you calling me to see just how beautiful you would be at this sunset.  How I appreciate your color, the clouds crowding you, and the sound of the waves lapping the shore.

Yes, endings are important too.

I am facing the ending soon of my 3 months in Israel and who I am now compared to how I was almost 3 months ago.  As well as the ending of curling within the snake-like sculpture to take in this view of you.  And the ending of visiting you in only a 10 minute slow walk from where I live.

Slowly, quietly, subtly, the sun melds with the gray.  Ah, now your ball is no longer visible, but the clouds still keep your beauty and color a bit longer.  And you continue to light up the sky even as you die this day.

I like your ending — would that my ending will also brighten the sky as I say goodbye.

Breathe in

Breathe out

Namaste

 

 

Written March 12, 2018, looking out at the Mediterranean Sea in Netanya, Israel.

Breathe in

Breathe out

How can it be that we are kin?  You, with your endless blue water, and me, with my puny human characteristics?  “They say,” and I do believe, that we are connected by nature.  I, the sea, the air, the wind, the birds, the land — we are all a part of nature.

Perhaps I could not bear to believe that I pass through this world for years with no connection to it — just floating by, and then into nothingness before and after me.  I have no proof of our kinship except that I feel it physically and spiritually.

I do not wish to be only another human among billions because humans are such a small, inconsequential part of nature — and certainly not the best part.  I am often ashamed of being human given all the meanness of the species.  I think of my friend, Ruth, whose worst three years of life were spent as a young teen in Auschwitz.  She endured and overcame unimaginable things to have what she amazingly was able to call “a good life.”

And then I read of quite normal, beautiful teens who commit suicide to escape bullying by other teens on social media.  And I can’t understand either the brutality or the fragility of teenagers who grew up in a world of social media.  I can’t put them together.

When I divorced, I felt opposing pulls of pain and the excitement of pulling together a new life for myself.  But now I’m old, and there are very few mitigating factors to ease the depression of deterioration.  How to sustain my spirit like my friend Ruth did through the horrors of continuing to live through evil times and cruel humans?

You, nature, are the only way I can balance the world enough to want to stay in it a while longer.  And then I will join you as an intangible, forever lasting, infinitesimal speck of dust.

Breathe in

Breathe out

Namaste

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