If you have ever lost someone you love, you will know that it sucks the life out of you.
Standing at the shore, I let my heart break. The pieces fell hard and wave after wave picked up a piece and took it away. Completely centred, I stilled myself more, allowing the feelings to come and the waves to go.
Softly, the tears fell. Softly too, the waves came in perfect rhythm.
My prayer that morning was a simple one : I asked that the same one that made the waves, the same one that made my sad heart, would hold my mother in tenderness as she traveled back “home”. She had just passed away and the smell of her still followed me everywhere.
Looking back at the footprints and with the sound of the waves getting more and more faint, I realised that the prayer was not only about my mother. It was also about me. For me. I needed her to journey well, so that I could journey well too. My happiness was contingent on it.
Knowing for sure that my prayer was answered, I began to walk back to the boardwalk. The connectedness I felt to the ocean, its rhythm and the creator of it all was not for me to try and understand in that moment. (Or perhaps ever!)
Instead, I bowed my head for a second in gratitude, delighted that there are undoubtedly magical moments and miracles on the most ordinary of days. Indeed when we’re silent and centered, plugging into the rhythm of the divine flow is not only necessary, it is completely instinctive. A rhythm most divine.
Ask me, I know.
© A Heart Full of Stories, 2017
Aluta continua, as they say. Allow me to wish you a million opportunities on the most ordinary of days to plug into the magic and surrender to the rhythm that sustains us all.