Tidal Ways

Living by the beach, for me, is a very zen component to the quality of life we all chase. Every time I step on the frothy granules of sand, hear the gulls squawk with curious authority and feel the sun breathe life on my skin, I'm part of the world again. When there's a ripple in that balance, it's felt all through the community, even if we shrug and pretend it's nothing to worry about. We don't live directly on the beach, no matter how frequently we visit. That's what we assimilate to as Americans, let alone Surf City-ians.

The recent earthquake in Haiti (and the massive rainstorms we endured thereafter as a result), created a marked disturbance in the carefree day at the beach notion. There's been telethons and informative commercials raising funds to aid the ravaged Haitians, urgency in the collective plea.

I got a FWD text (those are always dubiously received for practical time saving reasons) in which Americans were shamed for having such an interest in Haiti, when we here in the U.S of A have the same issues being overlooked by those lobbying for other nations. I raised a quizzical eyebrow reading it, it seemed a little harsh. Even if I have felt the tugs of poverty, medical bill strain, or daunting insecurity in our "leaders" I wouldn't want anyone else to feel that no matter the semantics involved.


Yesterday I stood on suddenly foreign feeling sands, that political text message popped into mind. I watched the ocean angrily slam into the beach, chopping vengefully at the birds looking for food, hinting at frazzled sea life trying to settle back into routine. The banks themselves stood riddled with debris from boats/structures torn asunder in recent waterlogged weeks. It was faintly frightening. The vibe was listless, the waters S.O.S. message being telegraphed was eerily ignored by the native animal inhabitants, as they were more concerned with keeping up enough to find normalcy.


In all my memories by the water, I've yet to encounter a scene so oppositional from my haven of connectedness. Yet still, how do I feel remotely saddened when I'm still free to retreat to the safety of my home, intact and healthy?


Politics are like math: I deal with it as necessary, but don't go scaring up Algebra for the sake of it. I'd rather use a calculator, focus on the answer and move on (mixing metaphors I know, hear me out). Those in America, as flawed and spoiled as we may be, know what it's like to struggle if we let ourselves remember and ultimately feel thankful for the absence. Ironically, the powers that be seem to be doing to the common man of today what the ancestors fled to this country to escape. In the end, it's not what we talk/think about a situation, but how we live within that knowledge, what we choose to fight for.



The gulls, sandpipers and starfish don't care about the oceanic thundering. They know that it will calm, instinctively. All they want is food, obtaining shelter and fixing the damage, as it's all connected. In that light, all those asking for help are serving humanity well. Passing on good might kick start the stilted circle and we could get some of that attention to our own stranded dwellers, maybe. Minus the aquatic blustering.



Here's hoping.