“The paradoxes of life are all there in the sea. The ocean is often referred to as feminine, but the weaves arrive in a masculine surge. As soon as they reach the full extent of their masculine expression, they shape themselves into a tube, a womb. . . . There are tempests and dark depths. You do not mess with the ocean. It will pummel you and chew you up. It is devastatingly brutal. And yet it can be luminous and delicate and tender. We clean our wounds there. What a reflection of our own impossible nature. We’re so brutal, so base, so horrific, and yet we have the capacity for such tenderness and warmth, such empathy, such generosity.” -Ran Ortner
I love the line: We clean our wounds there. I lingered over this sentence. I have always been drawn to the ocean. Although I did not grow up near the ocean, we are intimately acquainted. I’m Greek so I suppose the sea is in my blood. When I’m near the ocean I just feel right. The sounds. The smell. The feel. It’s like coming home. There is nowhere else I want to be.
In my twenties, I spent two summers living and working near the ocean. It was not the best time in my life; I was feeling lost. I didn’t know which direction to move in career-wise or otherwise and felt stuck and defeated by past decisions.
When I look back at this time, I see it as a period of healing my wounds. Emotional issues from the past were coming up to the surface for confrontation. I spent many hours on the soft, warm sand, listening to the ocean and writing in my journals, diving into turbulent waves and cleaning wounds. Each morning before work I sat on the sand and drank my coffee, mesmerized by the wild, soothing waters. During that first summer I began creating again–writing and making art.
It was a time filled with both dark and light. A time for touching heavy and dark emotions and releasing them through creative expression. With the fierce, gentle ocean by my side.