17.5 million people...7 on the beach

It strikes me as rather absurd that in a city that is cradled by snow-capped mountains and washed on it's verges by the Pacific ocean, that we are so busy doing 'life' that we forget to live. It is only because Phil is doing a Saturday class, that I have for the first time since I can't even remember, set foot on the beach 45 minutes from our house.

There was the rhythmic silence of the pounding surf and the cries of overhead pelicans. The distant splashing of seals in the sparkling water, and lazy sailboats thinking about making the trip to a fog shrouded Catalina Island. It was a place forgotten by people who have too much to do to notice the clouds pass overhead, too much to do to listen to the kids giggling madly as they run from the breakers.

For two hours I stopped. Thank God. Each breath of the salty air brought a measure of calm, of healing, of presence. I sat simply soaking in the bright detail of every grain, every broken shell, every particle of the Sabbath moment I was in, and somewhere in my crushed little soul I felt deeply alive.