I swam in the ocean this weekend after the writers’ conference in Myrtal Beach, South Carolina. I dipped my toes in the warm Atlantic Ocean, gazing across the giant blue horizon. Wondering who was over there, across the sea. Wondering what was in there, the depth of her muse left me awestruck, amazed, energized. Then calm, like a giant balloon, dancing in the sky. Calm, clear, clean. The ocean is so powerful. I have not been to the ocean this summer at all. I love to swim in the sea.
So I inched closer and closer, dipping my toes at first, then my ankles. Then retreating to the shore to write notes in the sand.
I’m working on accepting where I am. I am home. Not forever home, but home in my heart. Time to cultivate this space, this land. I have earthworms the size of giant gummy worms in my soil in Eastern North Carolina where carrots grow thick and basil so green and smooth. These earthworms are all pink and thick, like number 2 pencils. That is something more than I had in Wyoming. I long for Wyoming, I call to her. But she has ridden out in the distance, leaving me alone in North Carolina, time to think. Time to embrace this is home now.
When I finally inched closer in the sea, my short ruler became an infinite, unmeasurable string. The ocean welcomed me, without my swimsuit, just a long sleeve black shirt, a black skirt and a black scarf. I inched deeper, now my legs and torso wet. “Why not!” I exclaimed. In I went, head under surf, fresh sea water on my skin. Warm, wise waves welcomed me. Fully emersed, I swam. Riding the waves like a cowgirl, bareback on horse. The ocean, the mountains, the forest, a garden. Nature calls to me, calls to you. She welcomes all spirits. She cleanses, cleans, cultivates better selves, better beings. That’s all I needed. A dip in the ocean. Inch by inch. Then foot by foot. Then no numbers, no measuring spoon. I was the girl in the sea.