Dear Graham,
My life here in Pedasi affords me the relaxation and luxury to go deeply inward—to let go of the worldly aspirations of career and settle into silence. This is a great gift, a gift I do not take for granted. I am deeply grateful.
I need to be disciplined: to keep silent in the morning before meditation, to stay away from the computer and other distractions, to rise early, shower, practice my yoga postures and breathing exercises, and then sit, close my eyes, and meditate.
For the first time in my life, I live on the shore of the great Pacific Ocean—the giant mother of the soul. I am the sea, and the sea is me. Its salty water runs through my veins like the blood of my body. The great poet Rumi once said, “You are not a drop in the ocean. You are the entire ocean in a drop.”
I long to remember this, to know it every second of my life. I contemplate his words: “I am the ocean living in a drop.” The body is the drop in which the infinite, unbounded ocean dwells.
You too, Graham, are not a drop but the ocean living in a drop. I hope someday you come to realize this—to breathe and live this pure Truth throughout your life.
My friend Katie said it is a great gift to walk by the ocean, to feel the inner and outer consciousness of the soul expand and contract with the rhythm of the waves. The ocean is the great mother of the earth. She gives birth to life within and beyond the sea. The fishes, whales, dolphins, turtles, and the great intelligences within her rise and fall with the breath of her waves.
The adult human body is made up of approximately sixty percent water much of which is salt water. The water is distributed throughout our cells and in the spaces around them. Apparently, our blood and lungs are about eighty-three percent water, our skin sixty-four percent water, and our muscles and kidneys nearly seventy-nine percent water.
Friday night, Rentia stopped by to experience Destiladerous with me for the first time. It turns out she loves this magnificent beach as much as I do. The tide was coming in quickly, and we walked east along the beach so I could show her the giant orange rock with its deep red, purple, and white veins before the waves covered the passage.
Rentia saw the beauty of the rock and appreciated it with the same depth that I do. She also noticed the large green pond that lies south of the giant rock and wondered if we could swim there. I smiled and told her I had wondered the same thing when I first saw that still body of freshwater.
But then I was told by several people who have lived at Destiladerous for years that a crocodile once lived in the pond and was only recently removed by the government. I thought that if one crocodile had lived there, what would stop another from moving in? We decided it would be wiser not to swim there.
We turned around and started walking back toward my townhome. Along the way we passed an old piece of driftwood covered with what Rentia pointed out were tiny white clams. I had assumed they were barnacles, but she was right—the growths on the wood were tiny clams. Rentia picked up the log and tossed it back into the ocean. Then she said, “Even if we save only one tiny clam, at least that is something.”
We passed the walkway leading up to the shower and pool so that I could show Rentia the giant abandoned castle-like home that sits on the hill. The building has fascinating architecture. It is a huge sprawling shell of a house with red-brick turrets and sweeping concrete walls now splattered with graffiti.
Rumor has it that a wealthy drug trafficker bought the land and began developing it until he was arrested, and the project was abandoned. Apparently, another woman later purchased the property and attempted to complete it. She had deep pockets, but not deep enough for the millions it will take to finish the home. She eventually abandoned the project as well, and it is now for sale.
Rentia found the house beautiful, and we both fantasized about how much fun it would be to finish the building and how magnificent we could make it. Then, all of a sudden—slam!—a huge wave hit us from behind and knocked me to the ground.
It all happened so fast. The water rushed over me. At first, I assumed the wave had knocked us both down, but later Rentia explained that she had remained standing. Because she was still on her feet, she was able to grab my arm and pull me out of the undertow. Afterward, she shared a beautiful insight. She said the experience reminded her of the gift of dependency. By reaching for me and pulling me upward, she was not weakened by supporting another; rather, the act of helping me helped her remain standing. The force she used to pull me to safety anchored her against the force of the wave. We often think of dependency as weakness and independence as strength, yet in that moment our strength arose through connection. Her stability became my stability, and in helping me regain my balance, she strengthened her own.
The great Mother Ocean had surprised us from behind and delivered a sharp reminder. I have often been told never to turn your back on the ocean, but we felt far enough away from the crashing waves that we had become careless. The tide was rising much faster than we had realized.
As I stood there dripping wet and covered in sand, I could not help but laugh. One moment we were dreaming about castles, ownership, and grand plans; the next moment the ocean swept those thoughts away with a single wave. The sea has a way of putting everything into perspective. She reminds us that no matter how important our ideas may seem, there is something far greater moving beneath and beyond them.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons I love living beside the ocean. She is beautiful and nurturing, yet powerful and unpredictable. She invites wonder, but she also teaches humility. Every day she whispers the same lesson: surrender, pay attention, and remember that you are part of something vast and eternal.
May you, too, Graham, find moments in your life that remind you of the ocean within—the boundless awareness that lies beneath the waves of thought, concern, and ambition. For beneath it all, we are not merely drops in the ocean. We are the ocean itself, living for a brief and precious time within a drop.
With love,
CC
