The Waves


~ The language of the ocean is its ripples and waves;
there is no translation for the messages we each take away. ~

Scientists can explain the technicalities of the effects of the ocean on the brain. That’s intriguing, but science will always be incomplete (oftentimes even spoiling the fun of natural mysteries) because it is limited by man and machine. That which I seek to not understand are matters of the soul and the bigger picture, the heart beyond its chambers. I am not too interested in the electroencephalography; my brain is sharp, but I prefer simple spirituality. I don’t need it explained to me; I can feel it in the places science can’t reach. There is only so much that can show up on an EEG. The bodies that house our souls are both essential and beside the point: the depth of peace an ocean can bring can neither be measured in fathoms nor postsynaptic potential. This is not a medical matter, but the results are useful if it inspires others to seek out this free and natural tool for stress relief and to get closer to, return to, an inner state of serenity that occurs when the water of our bodies meets the water of the sea.

The sound of the waves upon the shore are what we may be drawn to most after the ocean view. We hope for hotels directly on the beach so we may be able to still hear the ocean as we sleep, so soothing like a mother’s womb before birth. Mother Nature can calm us like no other. The rhythmic surf sound slowly hypnotizes, draws out the chaos that we’ve been harboring inside. We graciously empty or simply quiet our minds fully for a time, necessary for our souls and the ocean to reunite and speak the unearthly language without tongues, a language divine. We are not meant to understand the exchange, yet we are blessed with the untranslatable message. Our souls rise up to accept for us seed gifts from the sea, and we become implanted with a special guidance meant specifically for each.

The magic of the ocean’s language is peculiar. We strain our ears to hear, scan the skies for a visual clue, yearn for a sign to guide us. But the waves seem to work in reverse by removing all of that stimuli first. Like the smoothed sand that moments ago held prints, the surf wipes clean the slate of our surface mental distractions. We tend to be left without epiphanies but with gifted amnesia. Without touching the water, the thoughts plaguing us seem to get washed away. We are left with more space, like a spring cleaning, and we can be more selective this time with what we choose to keep in us. If we fall back to our old ways and accumulate clutter again, we can come back to this mystical place and begin the ritual anew.


All words and images ©LauraDenise

One thought on “The Waves

  1. A screech of tyres
    rips open the surfbeat.
    A car door slams hard on darkness…
    splintering moonlight.
    Worn shoes crunch and slide on shingle.
    The world’s biggest loser comes rolling home –
    out of bullets,
    out of options
    and out of punchlines.
    He stands,
    damp and foaming
    from the tide…
    kicking against the chains of other people’s solutions –
    watching his freedom drift ashore.
    The stars stretch out before him.
    The empty spaces hold their breath.

    The breeze turns colder.
    The damp threads freeze against his skin.
    The starless night stretches endlessly before him.
    Vast empty sentences lean out across the galaxies –
    and he sees them,
    grabbing them by the fistful from the silence.
    He feels the wound of real fingers
    where a reassuring hand once gripped his shoulder.
    His stomach starts to tingle.
    A small, withered heart starts to weep,
    the kind of tears you have to coax out…
    the kind that hurt too damn much to come easy…
    the kind you can hear from way out in space.
    The stars open their eyes.
    The explosions begin.


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