Scavenging for Something

I wouldn't have even noticed the sea lions, if they hadn't roared at me from the water's edge.

Head down, I stop mid-stride on Lowell Point Beach and look out towards Resurrection Bay. Two, then three, then five heads, peer back at me and my two Border Collie mixes that run where the waves lap the shore.

I roar back in my best sea lion, which prompts Lola, my pup, to jump on me, worried. "It's ok, Lola, I'm just talking to the sea lions."

Their curious faces stare at us on the land, as I stare at them in the sea, in awe of their ocean life, so different than mine.

"Thank you for saying hello!" I holler, alone on the beach, on this twenty degree December day, the majority of the houses behind me shuttered for the dark winter months ahead, holding empty rooms for summer visitors.

"Hellooooo!" I call out again, happy to connect with another creature on this lonely day where the language in my head has only been frothing up despondency, endless waves of negative speak.

What am I doing? Maybe I'm not suppose to write a book. How can I make a difference in the world? Should I just look for a job and call it good? What is happening to this country? Who am I to write? Where do I begin? Where do I end? Are we really headed towards a world without giraffes?

I take a few steps further down towards South beach, walking on the rocks that only reveal themselves at low tide, stepping over the frozen jellyfish, my eyes no longer only downwards scanning for sea glass and heart rocks, but cast to my left towards the sea lions that follow me, swimming underwater and popping their heads up again and again, eyes watching me watching them.

I roar loud and strong, in a way that's not meant to be threatening, but more of an invitation to see me as animal too. To see me as a vulnerable critter on the beach scavenging for something to hold onto, something solid, like the driftwood tree I admire but can't lift. Tossed by salted waves, pulled by tides, rolled smooth, waterlogged, no longer alive but impermeable, as much a part of the beach now as the forest.

I am so worried about this country of mine and our effects on the world in the months and years ahead, and yet I don't think my angst is helping anyone, certainly not me, or my family, as I sit paralyzed by fear reading CNN, BBC, or political stories on my friends' Facebook pages.

But what then? It seems entitled to retreat to my cabin in the woods and let the cards fall where they may. Do I get involved locally? Politically?  Find ways to use writing to make change?

Do the sea lions have any answers for me?

Are the five of you friends or family? Are there more of you underneath the spray of the whitecaps not interested in saying hi to a human like me? I gather questions, like feathers, shells, rocks, as I walk this familiar beach.  

The mountains never slouch as I leave solitary foot prints in the black sand.

When my path leads away from the water, towards the Spruce trees and Hemlock, I look back at the sea lions one last time and only one head remains above the waves, looking back at me.

I wonder what does the sea lion see? What does it make of me?

Just a mere person and her two black and white dogs, walking away from the mysterious deep of Resurrection Bay, towards the mountain with no name. 

Do they know my shoulders rise from their eyes searching out mine, from their saltwater language reaching into the whirlpool in my head?

As I walk into the woods, a raven calls. I can't see the large black bird, but I suspect its on the mossy limb of a Spruce tree watching me and my dogs make our way up hill.

Comments

[Kristen H]

Is there a local Women's Rights March you and your family could join on Jan. 21st? I, too, am heartbroken with what my country seems to value and what it seems to overlook even embrace. My 15-year-old daughter is even more distraught than I am and one thing that has lifted our spirits and makes us feel like we are standing up for those feeling threatened and marginalized is traveling to DC from Colorado to participate in this event. I know it's probably not feasible for you to travel such a long distance so hopefully there's a local event where you can march in solidarity with like-minded people. *Hugs*

[Christy]

Thanks Kristen, I am thinking about how I can participate on the 21st as well because yes it is something tangible I can do:)