CommunityMy FDL

Perfect, Then.

Life is measured in time, and time is a river. It flows only one way and does not stop. When we look upriver we see moments, memories. Islands that we’ve passed by and remarked upon in our journey.  Here is one of mine…


Photo Credit - My wife


This morning I stood on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. I watched the sun rise over the water, behind rain clouds. The waves beat a steady, lulling thunder against the sand. The air was warm, the breeze cool and strong. The song of gulls and terns was constant.

I stood in warm, clear salt water, waves breaking around my calves. Kristen and Alexia played in the Gulf 50 yards out, dancing and leaping in the crashing surf. The sun rose behind them, picking out points of light on the tips of rolling waves. Charlotte built castles in the sand just below the water line. Every few minutes they were lost to a rush of sea and foam. A metaphor about time and impermanence, our small place in the universe, occurred to me, but was lost in the beauty of this moment.

I was at peace. On this small beach, on this insignificant planet, in this vast universe, swept along by the steady stream of time, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

My wife and children were achingly beautiful. My mind slowed. My heart beat clear and strong in my chest, pushing love and life through my veins, and I knew my place in the world.

Here Charlotte was the architect of entire civilizations that were built and destroyed in mere minutes. Kristen and Alexia were the embodiment of light and joy, fleeting things that came and went with the waves. Somewhere in the cosmos, a tuning fork was struck. The voice of my life rose in song and met the universe in harmony.

In this moment I was elevated. I transcended the concerns of my mundane, temporary existence. The curtain was pulled back and I saw the universe and it was perfect. They were perfect. I was perfect.

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I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.

-D.H. Lawrence