My Old Man and The Sea

I’ve been thinking about the ocean a lot lately.  I have a special connection to it.  It’s a connection that did not come to me easily.  Having spent more than half of my life living in Florida, I couldn’t recount the trips I’ve taken to the beach to play in the waves and enjoy the sunshine.  Dozens of times? Hundreds?  Yes, hundreds!  Those trips span back to the first ones I made, as a little boy, in the nineteen seventies on family vacations from Indiana. 

On the surface, my mention of those numerous past visits and vacations aren’t central to what I’m writing; they are to illustrate the many, many times I have been in and around the ocean and had never felt it for what it really is to me.  But deeper down, where my real heart lives, the recollections of those visits and vacations are more than central.  They were (and are) one half of the thread that connected me to the sea.  The other half of that thread was the death of my father, nearly thirteen years ago.

But death sounds so final, so I will rephrase that to be “passing” instead because that is what I truly believe it to be, a passing.  But for me, even that’s not exactly right.  It is a passing, but I like to think of it as a “becoming” also.  Before I digress too much, I should state that I inherited much of my personal thoughts on the subjects of death and passing from my father and the story of that belongs here.

Many years earlier, my grandfather passed.  I was at my parent’s house and we were preparing to travel for the funeral.  Having never lost someone close to me before, I was, to say the least, dumbfounded.  While sitting inside the house, I saw my father through the window.  He was walking around his backyard, kicking rocks, so to speak.  Feeling lost and confused, I went outside to join him and was greeted by a simple, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I replied.

We walked along in silence.  After a few moments passed, not liking the silence, I said, “It really sucks that granddaddy died.”  I suppose I was hoping for some grand or experienced explanation, but instead the reply I got was simply:

“No, he didn’t.”     

Puzzled, I insisted, “No, he died.” To which, my father’s reply was the same:

 “No, he didn’t.”

As we continued walking slowly along, I kept quiet.  I began to wonder if my father’s sense of loss was so great, he might have lost his mind.  Maybe he’d disconnected from the stark reality that one of his closest friends, his supplemental father, was gone.  But before I could wonder longer, he stopped and turned to me.

“Timmy,” he said, tapping a finger against his temple.  “Your grandfather didn’t die because he is right here.  He is alive here, because I knew him and he is alive here (still tapping his head), because I talked to him. I just can’t talk to him in the same way now.  That’s the only thing that’s changed.”

His pure and simple explanation of his perspective immediately made me feel better.  His acceptance of the inevitable passing of my grandfather let me know that all was not lost, just different and that was something I fully considered.  At the time, I never considered that in a few short years I would be revisiting and applying that perspective to his passing, but he did.  And I tried.

After he went, our family returned from the hospital to my parent’s home.  We entered the house and I walked to my wife who was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor.  I said, lamely, “My dad died.” And she replied quietly, “I know.”   I lied on the floor with my head in her lap and I slept for a while.  I felt safe.  When I awoke, our family spent time talking and eating and making jokes. We recalled good and funny times and events, but after many hours, Beth and the kids and I had to head for our home at the beach.

The sun was still high and hot when we arrived home and we unloaded from the car.  I bypassed the house and walked out onto the beach.  Being fully clothed, I intended to walk to the water’s edge, perhaps to collect my thoughts, only I didn’t stop walking.  I stepped into the foam, soaking my shoes and socks, then my ankles and lower legs and when the waves smacked against my knees, I allowed myself to fall bonelessly over and into the water.  I let the waves wash over me and bounce me around.  I let them begin to heal me.  They dragged me back and forth and placed me in the shallows.  They dragged me into the sand.

And as I lay there in that hot Florida sunshine, half submerged and tasting the salt and the sand on my lips and looked up at the sky, the connection I spoke about was made between me and the ocean.  There I had been thinking that my father had died with his departure, but the strength and the weight of the water, the endless crashing voice of the sea told me differently.  In fact, it insisted.  It said purely and simply:

 “He is alive here, because you knew him and he is alive here, because you talked to him. You just can’t talk to him in the same way now.  That’s the only thing that’s changed.”

Do you have a connection to the ocean?

Consider Growing a spiritual Garden

Many of us enjoy gardening for a number of reasons.  Growing a garden is certainly a good way we can save money, considering the high cost of store-bought produce.  We can supplement our dinner tables with fresh vegetables, free from chemical pesticides and commercial fertilizers since there are natural remedies for most pests and soil types.  We can garden as a productive hobby and as a way to spend time outdoors.  But we should not fail to recognize and revere our spirituality as we sow, plant, tend to, and harvest our gardens.  As we nurture and grow our crops, we can nurture and grow ourselves.

Our modern lives, urban living, and busy schedules create distance between us our natural surroundings.  Growing a Spiritual garden can remove some of that distance by reintroducing us to the natural symbiotic relationships that we share with the Sun, Earth, Moon, and all of the elements.  Air, Water, Minerals, Soil, and Insects are all willing to work with us within our gardens, connecting us ever deeper to the world on which we live.

Your garden is sacred space.  Selecting it obviously requires some technical considerations.  Does is receive full or partial sun and for how long each day?  Are there trees whose roots may lie just beneath your space, making it hard to till?  Is your space located where it can easily be watered, etc.?   

In addition to those considerations, ask yourself if you are selecting a place that you love and does it please you?  After all, you’re going to touch the soil (the more the better).  You’re going to sweat there and heat your muscles there.  Your time and your heart and your devotion will be invested there.  Envision the thriving plants and the good feelings they give to you.  Picture the earthworms moving beneath the surface as they go along their paths.  Can you see the circling bees among your growing bounty?  If so, you’re committing yourself to your spiritual garden and it will commit to its return for your efforts.  You'll be working together. 

We should now stop and realize that a garden will not grow itself and that there are many technical considerations to be made as to what will flourish in your particular area of the country?  When should you plant?  When should you water?  Can you grow cucumbers or melons in your area?  All of these questions and more can be answered online or, in my favorite, The Old Farmer’s Almanac. 

A spiritual garden differs from an everyday garden because it is a sacred place shared between you and the Earth and empowered by the Sun where each plays its role toward shared success.  In a spiritual garden you should grow WITH your crops.  It is a place to clear your mind of daily troubles.  It’s a place to dispel negative feelings and regenerate.  It is a place for you, your family, and your friends if you wish to include them.  If you do include others, make sure to explain to them that your spiritual garden may be shared because the Earth holds nothing back from us, but also explain what sharing this sacred space means to you and how you wish to spend time in it.    

Sincere help should always be welcomed because, gardens are a lot of work, but also because shared responsibility, love, and labor in your garden will make deeper personal connections as you share your future meals together. 

Combining your love of self, one another and of Mother Nature with doing a bit of researching for vegetables that do well in your particular climate and putting in some time, love, and effort can provide you with a spiritual garden that fills your heart as well as your table.

A big Lesson from a Little Boy

About a dozen years or so ago, my youngest son, Lucas taught me a valuable lesson.  Most parents can attest to the simple, yet astounding pieces of wisdom that is often given to us from our children.  This particular eye-opener was given to me when Lucas was about four years old.  It was something I had forgotten.  Well, to be closer to the truth, it was something I never really considered to begin with. 

Lucas and I were sitting, cross-legged and face-to-face in the living room.  We were engaged in an epic action figure battle.  Regardless of the fact that Superman and Spiderman are fellow superheroes, superfriends, if you will, they were duking it out for some reason or another. 

I controlled superman and I barraged Luke’s Spiderman with x-ray vision.  Spidey countered with a volley of webs, which I easily broke free from.  Superman hurled the television remote and scored a hit!  Superman hurled a pillow! Superman flew easily to and fro, pummeling his foe.

And just as I was certain that Spiderman was mere seconds from defeat, he suddenly regained his strength, floated into the air and began blasting fireballs!  “Fireballs”, I said.  “Spiderman doesn’t shoot fireballs!”  Lucas laughed and informed me that not only does Spiderman shoot fireballs, but that the fireballs now were made entirely of Kryptonite!  I cried foul, but Spidey kept blasting away. 

I tried again, to explain to him what Spiderman’s powers consisted of (I was hoping to expose Spidey’s limitations and win the battle), but Lucas ignored me and continued his onslaught.  He said something to me and with it, disarmed me and won the battle.

He asked, rhetorically, “Who’s playing this game, dad?” and instantly I realized that my imagination wasn’t quite what it used to be.  I understood that my decades of experience and knowledge did not benefit me in this action-figure battle; it was what defeated me. 

Internally, I vowed never to forget that moment and so far I haven’t.  In fact, I revisit that more often than you might think because Luke’s simple and wise exclamation summarized to me the power of imagination.  I realized then that my action figure had been hobbled and his power diminished because so had mine. 

We have the tendency, as we grow older, to forget the importance our imaginations play in our lives.  There are those that argue the whole of the human species owes everything to its imaginations.  I don’t disagree.  Was there ever an invention made that wasn’t first imagined? 

Thinking, in its simplest form is really nothing more than imagining something.  Perhaps it’s thinking toward the solution to a particular problem.  It’s that mental grocery list we start putting together in our heads when we realize a trip to the store is soon needed.  It’s even the images of the products we’re going to purchase or the aisle they reside in.

When we think of a trip in the car on a bright and warm day and anticipate the breeze and the trees, the sights and sounds, we are imagining, aren’t we?  But we get so used to solving our problems, making our lists, planning our trips that we usually don’t see the process of what we’re doing.  Fair enough. 

Past experiences go a long way in shaping how we use our imaginations.  So do schools, teachers, churches, the media, and so on.  None of these entities are inherently bad and they do spark our imaginations, but more so, they tend to tell us “like it is,” and portions of our imagination get stifled.  I don’t have to imagine that two plus two equals four if I already know the answer.

But “telling it like it is” is not inherently bad either because certain truths are truths and facts are facts and relying on past experiences to anticipate a similar outcome to a similar situation is usually good sense.  What I am trying to say is that thinking the way we always think, while not bad, may be limiting.

Most of us have heard the hackneyed phrase “think positive!” and I would venture to guess most of us agree there can be benefit to doing just that.  We can imagine ourselves being happy or thinner or kinder or whatever, but unless we follow up with some type action, it’s likely that we won’t end up where/how we thought we would or at least a little closer.  The phrase “Follow Your Dreams” also comes to mind.

This past weekend I imagined a beautiful car ride with my wife to meet her friend.  The day was bright and warm.  The anticipated breeze and the trees, the sights and sounds were all there.  The ride was EXACTLY as I had imagined it would be.  It was wonderful.  All we had to do was get in the car, the rest unfolded.

So, imagining that you are (and will continue to become) who and how you want to be and giving it a try may be easier than you think.  This applies to everything we do.  I think it has everything to do with who and how you are already.

In my case, the case of the epic superhero battle, I learned that my imagination was constipated by the things that I already knew about Spiderman and Superman.  My character’s power was already defined and therefore limited. 

But then my son asked, “Who’s playing this game, dad?”