Sitting Still

I am sitting still on Richardson’s Beach in Hilo, Hawaii. Between each sentence – at each dash –

Surf crashing on the black lava rocks of Richardson's Beach in Hilo, Hawaii

Surf crashing on the black lava rocks of Richardson’s Beach in Hilo, Hawaii

I look up – and watch the Pacific crash and fold into the shore. – Beyond the ocean is the curve of the Hilo bay front. – Rising steeply up from the rollicking ocean is Mauna Kea, about 14,000 feet high. Measured from the seabed, it is 25,000 feet high, one of the tallest mountains in the world. Today, it is thinly veiled in vog, the volcanic haze blowing up from Kilauea, the active volcano south of Hilo. – In the decade since I have been coming to visit my cousin Tracey, in Hawaii, I have seen Mauna Kea only a handful of times from Richardson’s Beach. It is usually shrouded in clouds. Today, there are visible patches of snow at the very top.

It is wild here. – The lifeguards have posted yellow signs warning of big surf and dangerous currents. – It is mesmerizing – watching wave after wave – crash on the black lava rocks, shooting white spray – high into the air. This is meditation – sitting still – sinking into the wildness of the moment, of no time,- looking up in time to see a series of huge waves curl and foam  – inhaling – exhaling – singing exuberantly to shore.

Charles Lindbergh spoke about “the wisdom of the wild.” – I revel in the wildness here, where the elements of nature – earth, fire, wind and water – are constantly creating and changing the land. Being still enough to inhale that elemental wildness stops my mind. –

Mauna Kea seen from Richardson's Beach

Mauna Kea seen from Richardson’s Beach

Tracey drags me into the ocean, my first time swimming since last August. We walk a narrow black sand path through the black rocks toward deeper waters. Here the waves are mere echoes of their crashing, blustery selves – bumping us along the surface. Abruptly, the ocean turns turquoise over white sand. I can see to the bottom.

I tread water – listening to the sounds of wildness – thundering waves, the energy of the incoming tide surging forcefully toward us, rhythmic and random, the wind blowing the palm fronds and Abezia trees, which rustle and creak in response. – There is nothing to do except watch and listen. – I am restored.

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