God painted the sky in blues and it was amazing. Deep blue sky covered with light blue clouds suspended over an aqua blue ocean. The Trade Winds had ceased so there was no breeze and all was quiet. I stood with my feet in the water willing myself to be absorbed into the vastness of it all.
I would then turn to face the other direction and Fran’s thousand shades of green were painted in the Palm trees and cover the mountains behind them.
Brilliance is everywhere.
I feel small and whisper a prayer of thanks to be able to witness this.
Throughout my life the ocean has been a healing place for me. Car crashes and broken bones were mended by the sea. So was a heart that’s been broken more than once. And years of carrying the burdens of the poor, the sick, and the dying was put into perspective as I made my daily run beside the water.
I’ve spent the last few months coming to terms with a past that has left me behind. Perhaps I left it behind. I’ve been gathering my thoughts as someone told me. Having long conversations with myself as I’ve tried to learn from the things that I’ve done and plan for what I want to do next. The smell of the marsh and the salt of the sea have given me context for these chores.
I’ve made the pilgrimage from the spotlights of the city where hundreds of people made demands on me to the solitude of a beloved back deck and a dog that I love. My friends have sought me out proving who they are and offering me love when I had none left to give. My dear friend Fran was raised from the dead in my back yard and is still teaching me to stop and appreciate what is around me in this moment. These things happened in a beach house that I rarely left.
When I did leave it I was most often on my bicycle for the morning communion of the Saints at the Breakfast Club where my days began with coffee and hugs. Or I peddled to the Bored meeting at “Fannie’s” for laughter and a daily celebration of the island that is my home. On Friday nights I parked my bike besides friends so that we could stumble in and out of Bernie’s, Doc’s and by then I don’t remember anymore.
Most every day Goddess and I have sat on Shirley’s sad little holy dock listening to the choir of mussels popping and ticking their songs. My feet dangle off the side and my arm is around Goddess. It is the place where I rediscovered that I still have love to give.
Daily I looked inside of myself and have written about what I found. It has been a prayerful conversation with myself. I inventoried my sins, confessed them aloud, and forgave myself for sometimes coming up short when I was really just doing the best that I could.
And I delighted in the surprises of those who read what I write and offered their own wisdom, consolation, encouragement or stories. I found joy when the “word became flesh” these discussions were face-to-face and arm in arm.
Aside from when I was forced to go to other cities, the only place I’ve chosen to visit is back here in St. Martin. I marvel at the consistency of its beauty; and the consistency of my friends who have stood steadfast by my side both when they are here and when we return to our own homes. The friends who live here have welcomed me back with open arms and large smiles. Again!
I know that this time of reflection and celebration of who I am will soon be coming to an end. In a few weeks or a few months there will be lots to do, places to go, people to see. There is a partner that I am obligated to, a corporate identity to fulfill, and customers to satisfy. I can smell the changes as the waves lap against my feet.
I’ve been standing still. For perhaps the first time in my life I have stopped. And I am humbled by what I have found when I did.
