Sand
Despite tender correction, the mistakes continued. And they were awful mistakes too, not just the kind of careless errors one might be prone to when the speed of the mind far surpassed the fluidity of fingers on a keyboard. These were the kind of mistakes that dare a person to give up because the transparency of self loathing and subsequent need to be punished had grown to tiresome proportions.
Just like sandy beach shoes worn indoors, the insidiousness nature of it reached every corner of my good nature. I was no longer willing to be patient and judge not. Instead I pondered the act itself. Was it disrespect? A cry for attention? In the end it didn’t matter. It was time to take the shoes off and leave them outside.
Sand, like bad behavior, permeates living quarters. It makes tile floors slippery and is a nuisance in bed linens. Actions to counteract its effect must be diligent and repeated with regularity. And there’s nothing quite as disconcerting than the grit of sand in a sandwich eaten at the beach.
Essentially sand is broken down rock or coral. It’s measured and grouped into categories. Boring stuff unless you’re a sand collector and sometimes even then.
When I lived far from the sea, I collected beach sand in glass jam jars; tall, slender vessels that held my dreams as a visual reminder of what I was working toward. Specimens came in all sorts of colors and consistencies from the pebbly “sand” of New York’s Sound Beach where I lived as a younger woman to the pink sand of Bermuda that a friend had brought back for me. I built a shelf over a north facing window to display them where they remained for many years. Now they are tucked away in a box in the corner of a closet, out of sight but not out of mind.
These days my beach dreams include the likes of Fiji and the Maldives where powdery white sand is in stark contrast to turquoise seas. I dream of the people I’ll travel with and those I’ll meet not to mention the adventures themselves, but that’s a story for another time.
Like ingrained behavior, sand sometimes takes on patterns which result from tide and wind action. The rhythmic lines call for our attention but can be easily overlooked due to their hypnotic nature. It’s not until we notice the sensation of ridges on the soles of our feet that we see them for what they are. Turning to look back, we see the patterns had been there for quite a while. Sometimes this stuff just sneaks up on us. It’s what we do once we become aware that matters.
Today I invite you to consider the sandy shoes in your life, either your own or those of another and decide if you’ll allow them in or keep them out.
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Copyright 2011 Jackson Dunes/Diana Taylor, Pug At The Beach
Photo credit: Diana Taylor
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Posted by Diana Taylor at Sunday, October 02. 2011 
Categories: lessons from the beach, perspective, authentic life
Tags: sand
Categories: lessons from the beach, perspective, authentic life
Tags: sand
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