There were many gifts from my recent time with the ocean, the deep peace it brings so needed today. But what truly struck me most of all during my seaside reflection was the steadfast insistence of the tides. It's been a difficult few months, and I arrived by the water weary and tearful. And through the following days, I found moments of joy, peace, and lightness. Families around me argued and snapped, laughed and played. Late evenings, couples walked hand in hand and in the soft early morning sun, a dreamy few sifted through the sand for shells and other treasures. A chain-smoking woman screamed at a poor tiny toddler who clearly had no clue what she was trying to express, and young lovers nearby kissed passionately for hours, oblivious to the cacophony around.
And the tide didn't care. Not about any of it. It came and it went, rhythmic and faithful and true.
Longfellow captures it perfectly for me with this offering from 1879:
The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
There is one thing we can count on, no matter what chaos reigns in the world of humans–the tide will rise and the tide will fall. There is nothing any human can do to change this fact. Whatever the political upheaval in the US and across the world, the tide will rise and the tide will fall. Whatever the personal grief you are struggling right now to survive, the tide will rise and the tide will fall. I find this unwavering steadfastness exceptionally moving, like a mother whose patience never falters or fails.
As Rachel Carson reminded us last week, “To stand at the edge of the sea, to sense the ebb and flow of the tides, to feel the breath of a mist, is to have knowledge of things that are as nearly eternal as any earthly life can be.” Those eternal ocean tides exist in the very waters of our own corporeal incarnate structure–they are an integral part of us. No one knows what the years to come will bring in terms of politics, war, climate disruption, and so much more. But I've learned a lot from the ocean this week. Regardless of election outcomes and other swirling upheaval, and when eco-anxiety or global angst comes to visit me, I will remember that when all of this has long passed the ocean's tide, and my own, will continue to rise and it will continue to fall.