Tonight under a westwardly falling sun, I sank my feet into the cold waters of the Atlantic. If I was an electrical current I could have traveled all the way to Africa through the same water. I walked slowly along the beach in the cool, winter air of the coast. Taking time to notice things like patterns in the sand and children playing down the beach, backlit by that big flashlight in the sky. It was good to slow down, if only momentarily. Life has been steamrolling by lately, and although I’ve done my best to enjoy it, it’s always refreshing to sink your toes into the sand, or dirt and remember that this is how God created it. I don’t need a church; a day outside under the elements is enough of a chapel for me, roofless or not. I still amaze myself that I can find more religion and peace in the gliding of a pelican or crashing of waves than I do in any book or song of faith. I guess for me the sounds of the ocean hitting our continental shelf is enough. As I stood there alone on the shore, I thought of the water and land as being two lovers in constant struggle for the sheets. Neither one giving in, just re-shifting, and looking for a new angle to get a better grip. It’s something the ocean teaches well. Change is constant. The Buddhists might have it right when they say suffering is in attachment. Because in the end what we become attached to is never the same 2 days from now. We must learn to flow with the change instead of fight the current, because we’ll lose if we do. So like all things in life, we must learn to take what we can and always be grateful. It’s one of life’s lessons I’ve been getting a hold of lately for some reason or another, maybe the timing is right, I don’t know. So tonight, as I watched the seagulls waddle by and the pelicans glide past, I thought not of what I will be doing in two months, but rather, why does God create such beauty, only to take it away every night? Though, I guess if he never took it away, the sunset would never appear and the stars would never shine.