Last night, before I went to bed, I walked through the darkened kitchen of my temporary home here on the Atlantic and looked again at the lighthouse off in the distance sitting at the end of a promontory. How wonderful to find myself here, at this time in my life, apparently very ready for this experience, knowing it will yield moment after moment of new beauty, day after day a new awareness.
This is my first day here on the beach. I spent a week at a friends home, about an hour off the coast. It was a peaceful time of good conversation, walks in the Maine woods with two of the finest golden retrievers on this planet, day trips to Freeport, Kennebunkport, and Congress Street in Portland, as well as drives down a labyrinth of back roads. It made for a really nice week.
As I write these words, from my kitchen table overlooking the beach, the sunlight is peeking through and lighting up the water; small waves roll onto the shore. My kitchen window is framed by pine trees. Just beyond is grass covered dunes and seven miles of sand beach. The old picket fence below is lined with lobster buoys of all colors, shapes and sizes. A lone walker passes by on the beach.
Yesterday afternoon was spent settling in here and getting a feel for this new place. As evening fell into night through the sounds of Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come," and Louis Armstrong's, "What a Wonderful World," I felt the gentle tug of sleep. I had been looking forward to my first night here, to lying down with the sound of the waves outside my window. As I drifted off, I heard the soft whistle of a train going by a couple of blocks away. Falling asleep between that familiar sound of a train and the new sound of waves on the beach can only be described as magical. It was as though my life was making a turn into something new, but bringing with it the best moments of my past to help me make the turn and carry me forward with all that's truly good.
The water is calling me for a walk along its shores. I want to feel that same sense of infinity I feel when looking at the night sky, to feel the mysteries of the Universe. As I look across the water and see the horizon with the promise of infinite goodness unfolding before me, I am filled with joy and gratitude. To paraphrase Anne Morrow Lindbergh and her Gift From the Sea, there's a quiet anticipation as I open this gift, this gift of the sea. Tonight, I will once again walk through my darkened kitchen and see the lighthouse sending out its beam of light, guiding ships and souls to port. I'm learning that home truly is where the heart is, that heart of hearts that we carry inside, that speaks to us through that quiet Knowing that we have arrived exactly where we're supposed to be at this particular moment in time. It's going to be great fun.