It is always easiest to pick up on the sweet details of life when in a new place. At the monolith on Cannon Beach, OR, time elevated and Chris and I found ourselves in something totally unexpected. The following is a little zoom into what I experienced one day on our trip.
Life mirrored itself in incredible ways today– the tide pools, anemones, barnacles, seaweed and pattern of colors found at Haystack Rock and atop Saddle Mountain.
Nature will show you the way. Walking out to the monolith feels sluggish while sinking into soft sand toward an unknown future– a giant mystery set in the intersection between blank sand, crashing ocean and bleak sky. As you approach greatness, what you assume is one grand image to encounter in a single bite; the sand becomes more solid beneath your feet, and easier to tread upon.
Standing– looking at a piece of lava once cooled by ocean, the sand feels firm. As you stand, you peer into the barnacles, the algae. The particles of sand shift below your feet. The colors contrast, black basalt grooved by generations of waves, a dark forest of light speckled weeds, layered on top of barnacles and clams cemented, their bodies one with the crags. Lower, anemone are closed like soft lumps with life sucked in through a sharply pink rim. Lower, still, the water is salty and clear. Here, in the proper atmosphere, life continues like a dream world. The lime filaments ring around themselves, a new border marking the anemone as a bright hub on the rock wall.
You sink, now ankle deep, before you realize you are becoming one with the world. A piece of life tumbles in the current. Wave over wave over sand turned wave—a shell with life in the form of crusted legs, thick pincers, scuttling aided like two parents holding the hands of their child, 1-2-3, up, and a brief flight.
One thick clump of sand swims away—a fish moving past another, black and white, smaller, but a similar streamlined, angular shape. Past a remnant of seaweed, really a translucent fish of green the same shape, slipping into a crag, the smallest of all. Two shells- one rumpled, one glassy oval, skitter by. With the sand above your ankles, a band of cold, crystal water before a rush of breeze. Squinting out past wisps of your hair, ahead cling bloated orange and maroon starfish—veined in mountain ranges on their back. Beyond, a line of white crashes over and into, and becoming.
I think about all of this, what happened mere hours ago, while standing on top of a mountain and looking over a forest in various states of growth and clearing, nothing seems more complex. Do you remember the last time you lost yourself to beauty?