Reminders

The morning was slow and muffled by the sound of rain as I pulled the covers over my head thinking I might sleep in, but no. There was an instant call to get up and go for a walk on the beach which is only 15 minutes from my home. The last time I had been to walk the beach early in the morning, I found the body of a 24 year old man who just the day before decided with his brother to brave the rough seas of a tropical storm for a quick swim. He lost his life. The site of him facedown, his shirtless tan back and long black hair waving in the waves tossed an anchor in my mind to the exact spot he was found. I had not been back to that spot or for a morning walk since. Still, this call would not let me go. I thought about how this has stood in my way for so long since I used to love walking the beach at dawn. The odds of me finding another body are slim to none and my depriving myself of this joy is only handing me out limits on myself. I released the control and got dressed.

 

As soon as I pulled up to the stairs leading down to the sand, the rain gave up leaving a completely deserted beach for me and one crusty fisherman. Taking the last step on the stairs I looked both ways making sure nothing was floating in the water. With the all’s clear sign waving I hopped off the step and breathed in the sea air embracing my long lost friend. Feelings of thankfulness soon lined the walls of my cranium like dusty wallflowers. 2015 was my comeback year after losing my voice in 2014—Facebook had sent me a reminder of that memory asking if I’d like to repost it on my wall, no thank you, but how soon I forgot about being locked within my own asylum. There is no way to be in the world without speaking, I thought, so I wasn’t as much as possible. I wasn’t until a long awaited surgery gave me back my voice. Gratitude began to pipeline into a warm wave picking my thoughts up off the sand and I can’t be sure I’ve touched down yet but the ride is what I needed. I lived through it and thankfulness danced within me that morning as I thought about how it would be nearly impossible for me to care for my mom the way I need to with me not being able to communicate with her.

 

A chilled wind blew through me casting up the white foam and sprays of water, the jacket I forgot to bring laughed at me from the dinning room chair; I bid my walk goodbye and headed for my SUV. Swinging by a drive threw I grabbed a warm to drink and was headed to my favorite spot in The Loop. The Loop is one of the most incredible motorcycle rides in our area and I have such fond memories of taking those turns on my bike and being ambushed by something new in Florida’s beauty with every ride I made. My sweet spot is nestled in curve with a pull off spot favored by fisherman and artist for its beauty. On my way to this glorious place my plans were arrested by a whisper reminding me of the Labyrinth a friend took me. It wasn’t too far away and although I’ve been there three times, I’ve not been able to walk it. The religion of my past stands as a Centurion in my way crossing its massive arms and lodging its big foot in the crevasses of my ideology. The weight reminding me to be careful but something was different. I stood at the arrows edge demanding that those things leave my life; I’m too powerful to be stopped by a ghost no matter how ginormous he seems to be. He’s the Centurion of ideology past. I took a deep breath and walked right through him. My thoughts quickly surrendering to my heart’s opening and there the lesson of faith bloomed.