I believe in the power of the sea.

I believe that religion is finding something bigger than yourself, who listens and provides guidance when needed.

I believe in the power of the sea.

I’m not particularly religious. Or spiritual. I was not brought up that way, and while I have no real issue with reading about religions (I had to do some pretty thorough research with my discussions with a Muslim friend during Ramadan one year.) I’ve just never really…connected, with anything.

Except at the ocean.

I used to drive alone to Long Beach at night, and sit on the sand as the tide went out. And talk. And talk and talk and talk.

And if I couldn’t talk, I’d write. And then I’d give the paper to the water.

And I’d sit there under the stars and for a brief while I could get away from looks, or harsh words, or whatever it was that had driven me out there. And I could talk, and my voice would get swept away, and it would be like someone was listening, truly listening, and taking my words with them.

Once, I stood in the water waist deep (in March. And yes, it was cold) and cried and cried about how utterly hopeless I felt at times. Because I would tell people that, and no one would listen. By the time I left, I was numb on more than one account.

Sometimes I’d go after good things had happened too, after secret things that I couldn’t tell anyone else, but really wanted to talk about. Because when you’re there it’s you and something so much bigger than yourself. And it isn’t just the water. It’s in the waves and the breezes and the sand between your toes.

Those were the times that, as Charlie would say, I felt infinite.