Reflections on Resilience

I could see the storm approaching across the vast expanse from the west, menacing from north to south. Green-gray clouds heavy with January’s malcontent advanced upon the coastline.  Foreboding forces of nature filled the entirety of my vision. I sat at the water’s edge on my companion, a weathered driftwood log who had become a familiar presence.  My body melted away as I became part of the landscape, allowing myself to experience it.  To simply be. And I was not afraid.   

As the winds picked up, gritty gray sand aggressively streamed across the shoreline, erasing all tracks of the progress of the passersby.  The birds disappeared.  No whale spouts announced in the distance. No evidence of life remained, yet everything around screamed of existence. White caps whipped up in a frenzy, frothing and churning the salty waters, thrashing and crashing down with great intensity upon the shore. And yet I was not afraid.

And then it started. A coldness attempted to pull the breath from my lungs as the temperature dropped as if to punctuate the presence of royalty.  A bountiful deluge of hail fiercely and mercilessly pelted the water and the sand and me in an arpeggio of emotions.  It felt like rage venting on despair.  Lightning discharged from cloud to cloud in the distance.  

Raw.  Untamed.  Real.  Truly, no. I was not afraid.

Still. 

Present. 

Witnessing.

As stoic and calm as the driftwood log. As fixed as the salal bending in the wind, firmly rooted.  As faithful as the tumbled agates, polished and not pulverized.

Accepting.  

Remaining.

Unconditionally.