I grew up and have lived most of my life by the sea. One of the first important life lessons I can remember is my dad telling me “Nephyr, never turn your back on the ocean”. It was repeated until it was law. Never turn your back on the ocean.
The ocean is beauty and strength, healing and enlivening. She can be gentle, giving us waters to float in and food to eat. She is psychedelic in her ability to expand the mind with possibility simply by gazing at her far off horizon. She shows us the curve of the planet. She inspires poetry and romance, and there is no better place to grieve than by the sea. She can also be the most powerful of forces, overturning great ships and tsunami engulfing entire towns. She can overtly flex her muscles, and she can be a deathly subtle trickster.
When you live by the sea you know the tides. You know when it is safest to play in her waves. Sailors and fisherfolk know when to venture out and when to come in to safe harbor. Those who eat these things know when the seashore mollusks are safe for gathering and when they contain natural yet harmful toxins just as those of us who gather in the shore pines know which mushrooms to eat and which to avoid. Those who regularly play in her waves, surfers and seals, know to avoid the places that will smash you on the rocks. And everyone knows, never turn your back on the sea.
We all watch with dismay as every year the landlocked tourists, who are fearless of the sea because they think she is an extension of the for-your-entertainment taffy filled boardwalks come out and get trapped on dangerous rocks by the tides, caught in undertows, pinned under water by logs that loll in the surf, and find endless ways to drown. They ignore the signs posted saying “stay off of these rocks” and they repeatedly and fearlessly turn their backs. There is a yearly weeping.
Locals who live by the sea do not argue or lecture one another about freedom to ignore the rising tide, nor do they condescendingly accuse one another of being scared. No one says it’s better to swim in the storm than to embody fear.
It is understood that the ocean should be feared. That a healthy respect for, and fear of, her powers is what keeps the shoreline community alive. It’s understood that a pinch of fear of the ocean does not mean that we live our lives quaking and trembling. It is understood that discussing the incoming weather and possible precautions does not mean that we are inherently fearful people. To the contrary, it is seen as wisdom.
When you live the by the briny deep you talk about it a lot. You talk about it with love, you talk about it with warning, you talk about it with joy and you talk about it with sorrow. It’s an ever present thing.
I talk about covid a lot. Like most of humanity, I am living in a time of a viral tsunami. Davy Jone’s Locker is the briny deep of mucous filled lungs. And so I talk about the rising tide of case numbers. I talk about the areas where we are more likely to get smashed on the rocks of human recklessness. I talk about the lifeboat of vaccines and our exhausted coast guard of medics. I talk about the people with little knowledge of science and medicine, the tourists to the shore of healing arts who are fearless in a time when a bit of fear is a life vest of wisdom. I do my best to educate, to be that sign that says “stay off of these rocks”, because I know the tides are coming in.
I am not living my life quaking and trembling. Most of my days are spent doing lovely things like picking blackberries, communicating with my wonderful students, kissing my handsome kind husband. That my conversations are frequently about the new and dangerous waters we are wading through, and how to best get through them, is not a sign of living a life in fear, it’s an embracing of the very reason that fear exists at all, which is to save our lives, and for that I am grateful to fear as that little respectful dose of it helps me to have less overall fear. To say “there is an undertow over there” is not to live life in fear of undertows in a constant flood of anxiety, it is how we live with them with wisdom and stay well - we know we can trust one another to help us keep our eyes out, to stay informed, to know where it’s safe to tread, and in this knowledge we can relax a little.
I have lived most of my life by the deep and wild, cold beautiful ocean of the upper left edge of this country. When I see deep waters I recognize them, and I will not turn my back on them.
-nephyr