Sunrise
I thought I’d break with ‘tradition’ today and not blog about the entire day, but just the beginning and the end, both of which were spent alone at the beach.
I walked nearer to the water this morning because I wasn’t in my ‘good conference shoes’. And I stood amidst what seemed like hundreds of thousands (at least) of pebbles. They were so many, and not one of them was identical to any other. They were of different sizes, different colours, different shapes, different texture (kind of like people, eh?)…and altogether they were a wondrous sight to behold.
I love the beach in the morning. I’m not sure if it’s because there is a freshness belonging to the start of a new day, or because it is so quiet and still, with almost nothing else but the ocean waves lapping onto shore and the odd pelican sweeping down and gliding close to the water on the look-out for breakfast. Maybe it’s both. There’s a simplicity and purity to that uncomplicated scene that makes it meditative just by being there. I just stand there, breathing in and out and just looking at and listening to the ocean. Thinking nothing. Just being. For those 20-30 minutes in the morning, I am oblivious to everything else but the ocean and the sky and…me.
Sunset
I had dinner at the same taco stand today with 5 other people. But while they adjourned to a bar after dinner, I decided to head back to the hotel for an early night. It wasn’t just because I was tired. I wanted to spend some time with the ocean. And so I walked along the shore back to the hotel, and the setting sun accompanied me.
I paused numerous times to gaze out at the horizon where a ship with sails in the distance made a gorgeous picture with the orange-pink sun. But just as frequently, I stopped and stooped down to examine some pebbles that struck my fancy. Along the way, I came across two rather small rocks, a little distance apart, that were different from every other pebble on the beach (or at least I haven’t seen the same type at all so far). These rocks were a deep vermillion-red in its centre, like the colour of bricks. But, at the outer edges, they were like regular grayish-white granite rocks. I had seen one first, admired it, and walked a short distance before seeing the other. Struck by how coincidental that was, I went back to get the first one, and took a couple of pictures of the two together. They turned out to be two halves of the same rock! Something about that observation struck my fancy, and it was with reluctance that I walked away. In fact, even right now I’m wondering why I didn’t take them along with me. Maybe I’ll go back tomorrow morning and see if they are where I left them. *muses*
After arriving at the stretch of beach right in front of my hotel, I sat down on a ledge at the edge of the hotel pool area to watch the final moments of the sunset. But it was overcast today, and the glowing sun disappeared behind the clouds quite a distance before reaching the horizon. But although the sun itself had disappeared from view, its effects were still felt. With no sun in sight, the western sky above the ocean was tinged with the lightest touch of pink and orange, and those shades dissipated ever so slowly until everything around me was awash in the colourlessness that is dusk. Only then did I stand up and start walking back to my room, accompanied by the melody of ‘On the Street Where You Live’ coming from the saxophonist playing at the pool terrace.
It has been a full day conference-wise today, and I was occupied practically every moment of the day with someone. I thoroughly enjoyed the engaging intellectual conversations, as well as the distractions that company afforded. However, it was those moments spent quietly with the ocean that helped me to, however briefly and fleetingly, transcend the emotional fatigue that had plagued me. And for that, Puerto Vallarta will have a permanent place in my memory. It may not have the most beautiful coastline I’ve seen, nor are the waters or the sky of an impressive blue (the Mediterranean coastline is still my favourite after so many travels). When I spend time with the ocean here, I am not particularly stirred or excited by its beauty, as it is not astoundingly gorgeous. But there’s something plainer, and simpler to this ocean experience – and it is exactly what I have been needing. It gives me gentle comfort and peace precisely because of its lack of grandeur and brilliance. And so it is that a seeming ‘weakness’, in the right context, can be a greater strength than what otherwise seems obviously ‘strong’. Whoever said ‘ordinary’ could not be ‘exceptional’? *smile*
Journey of the Heart 