Windows Of The Sea

‘Lithe turning of water,

  sinews of Poseidon,

Black azure and hyaline

glass wave over Tyro,

Close cover, unstillness,

bright welter of wave-cords’ (Pound, Canto II, 132-136)

We walked along the beach this afternoon my daughter and I. She gathered shell fragments and I watched the footprints appear and disappear in the sand. The ocean was choppy and strong; I thought of Poseidon.

We’ve lost the rhythm of our weekly jaunts to dog beach a little as life has pulled us back out into wider orbit. Today the water glinted with mischievous intent, the sea and sky painted themselves in shades of blue and a relaxed happiness spread through us all.

My family and I are anchored by the ocean here in California. We are tethered to its promise of an endless horizon and inextricably linked to what it symbolises: the freedom to travel and move between the new world and the old.

The waters of the Pacific also serve to open up internal dimensions. When the metallic noise of Americana grows deafening an afternoon by the ocean reminds you of unseen kingdoms and the fluid process of all things. This afternoon I felt impermanence in the rolling waves. I thought of Heraclitus gazing at flowing water. In the windows of the sea I saw Dionysus as he manifests in Pound’s second Canto.

Time drifts by and my daughter draws shapes in the sand until the dog is exhausted and we amble happily back up the beach towards the week that awaits.