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My Feet Move 


My feet move in steady rhythm, legs swing loosely from the hips, knees soft, soles are rolling into the springy compacted Sand. Each step’s impact ripples up my spine to the head top. Step after step, after step. Uninterrupted. Listening to the continuous currents inside my body, I realize Sand is talking to me, louder and clearer than ever. Gravity falling through me, Sand below, forward motion. Rhythm of my feet harmonizing with murmuring gentle waves rolling in… what strangely balmy beach weather on this first day of December.


The tide is very low. The soles of my feet eagerly deciphering the rising messages. Sand is talking to my heart. Sand revealing itself as my ancestor. Teaching me about ever-shifting patterns and change. The art of being changed, sculpted, shaped and reshaped… over and over again… I keep walking, same rhythm, hundreds of delicious steps, two hours have gone by.

 

Sand keeps telling stories. How wonderful to be formed and shifted into endlessly morphing patterns. The beach.  Every few hours new configurations emerge, rivulets, streaks, feathery, leaflike, beautiful designs. The inventiveness of sand and ocean, waves and crushed particles, making any artist gasp in astonishment. My feet’s steady rhythm in unison with my breath and the breathing of ocean. Three hours have gone by. Today it is all about Sand. Patterns. Arising and dissolving.



Am I not Sand? Getting shaped and reshaped with ebb and flow, with every tide. The waves of water, of life. The forces of moon, of stars. All continuously re-organizing my body-mind-being – flow and dialogue, architecture and cells. Nothing fixed… metamorphosing.   Is that how it really is?
How it really is...



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