Standing on a wide open beach in the middle of winter. The sky is gray. The clouds seemingly within reach. It is low tide, but the sound of the surf permeates everything. Voices of other beach-goers are muffled in the background. The sand is damp and cool. Standing there, where the land disappears into the endless ocean, it is impossible not to contemplate life and the limits of our understanding of it.
In front of me sits the Peter Iredale - a shipwreck of a bygone era, it’s rusted skeleton buried in the sand and punished by the elements. The secrets that the ocean holds are many. The mysteries of this beach speak through the wreckage and the driftwood exposed to the wind, water, sun and salt.
Inspecting a piece of driftwood, I become connected to the patterns and contrast of light and dark. It is fitting for this area, which sees long nights in the winter, along with powerful storms and raging surf. The lines remind me of the turbulence of the ocean - the currents and tides - pushing and pulling - swirling and dragging. The brightness on the surface and the darkness of the depths. It feels like a record of what this once forgotten tree has been through.
And it speaks to life. We experience turbulence and uncertainty. We feel the ups and downs - the light and the dark. We drift through life on the waves of time, not knowing the final destination, but willing to float across the depths to get there. Along the way, we drift into others, riding their own waves. We may float and bob together, for a time, experiencing the elements. We may drift apart (“Wilson…!”). But the driftwood also defines strength through adversity. It shows the scars life, but remains solid and steadfast. And through it all we hope to find ourselves settled on the beach, lying still, listening to the surf, feeling the sand, embracing the serenity, but knowing that other waves may come.
