The Sea’s Gentle Rhythms

In late May, I reached the coast. The sea lay stretched before me like a sleeping dragon, breathing with the rhythm of the tide. I wandered the shoreline, the cool waves teasing my ankles, the sand shifting beneath each step.

Far out, a sailboat moved slowly across the horizon. It didn’t seem to be in any hurry. The seagulls called above it, dipping and circling, their voices carrying far on the wind.

A woman walked by, collecting driftwood and shells in her scarf. She paused when she saw me gazing out at the waves.

“It never stops moving,” she said, following my eyes. “But it never hurries either. That’s the sea. That’s the Tao.”

I nodded, struck by the same thought. The sea yields and reshapes. It doesn’t resist the shore – it embraces it. And yet it carves cliffs over centuries.

That night, I listened to the waves from where I lay, letting their rhythm wash through me like breath. A practice in presence, a lesson in letting go.