Intensity

greeting the King Tides as teachers

(photo by Melissa Fritchle, Santa Cruz, 2023)

In the Winter months we are visited by the magnificent King Tides in Santa Cruz. The coastline undergoing its most dramatic shifts throughout the day, speaking loudly of ever-present change. My own moods seem to be aligning with these powerful tides, now crushing sadness, now fiery hope, now a slow paced exhaustion. I shift. I ride the intensity. I pay attention to what gets revealed.

The King Tides are the highest and lowest tides of the year, caused by the strong gravitational pull when the Sun and the Moon are both at their the closest to the Earth. It is the ocean responding to these powerful external forces intensifying its movement.

Within one day we see the power of water’s presence and its impact on the coast. At high tide the waves crash over the guardrails, flooding sidewalks and sometimes drenching an unsuspecting walker enjoying the views from what is normally a safe distance. At low tide the water has receded enough to uncover tidepools and shy creatures normally hidden and protected underwater. In one day the beaches here are entirely different landscapes.

We know now that the high tides we experience during these King Tides are prequals of a looming new normal as the oceans rise due to global warming. The cracked boundaries between street and shoreline will be a new reality, the waves taking over the manmade concrete demarcations. The deep sound of crashing water hitting hard against our reinforced cliffs will overtake the shushing of waves gently dissipating against sand. This beauty of a white rush of water is humbling, less welcoming. We have to keep our distance without a sandy beach to provide a safe mediation between human and wave.

The low tides are a wonder of uncovering. Through their deep receding we are able to meet our neighbors we rarely see, the bright orange sea anemone, the metallic Chiton, and beet purple urchins. I step carefully and internally wince at the shell incrusted anemone’s attempt at protection, unhelpful in the face of a big hard-soled foot. On these days we are able to see the intricate hidden worlds, what is alive because of the protection cloak of cold water. Its stunning all the fragile beauty unknown to us until these days of intensity.

Low tides remind me of the vulnerability made clear in times of intensity.

High tides shout reminders of forces stronger than human will.

I am feeling the mirror of this intensity within me. All the emotions running at their highest, I practice just breathing. Sitting with my breath doesn’t necessarily lessen the intensity, at least not at first. But it does allow me to witness the emotions like the waves. I can watch the way Fear comes in and crashes through every structure I thoughtfully built for efficiency and how Grief strips bare the soft warmth of comfort. Then Anger builds and surges forward threatening to push past my integrity and then exhausts itself, the energy drawing back uncovering a quiet glistening Hope, held like a shallow pool filled with the reflected gold of a sunset sky.

I am still and wait to see what comes next. What power will surge up and what old barriers will it break through? What tender life will be revealed?

I find I cannot really prepare; I can only be spacious enough to receive the changes with clear attention.

Today I will walk along the cliffs. I will reach out to the constancy of the shoreline to teach me how to receive all this intensity. I root into its steadfastness. And its ability to be shaped and reshaped. Both. There is an important secret there in how to be steadfast and loyal to my soul and also be open and honest in relation to the nature of change and my limited choice in the matter.

The Ocean is bigger than the land that greets it. It is in an ancient dance with the Sun and the Moon that goes on and on regardless of what we build around it.

(photo by Melissa Fritchle, Santa Cruz, 2023)

NATURE COMMUNION

Find some being in nature that is in relationship to movement - like the shoreline in relation to the tides or a tree in relation to winds or even a mountain in relationship to time. Go and witness this relationship for awhile. Notice what you feel in your body as you watch the dance between them.

Ask the more rooted or solid one in the relationship, the one who holds a certain ground, to teach you about how to be in relationship with something moving and changing.

You might also share with it about any vulnerability you are feeling in relation to intensity right now. And then allow yourself to just stay. Join this grounded one in being solid for awhile.

EMBODY

Let’s sink into our body’s ability to ride the breath. Find yourself simply letting the breath move and the body be still. Let the breath do its thing. You are the container for it’s flowing, in and out.

Sit up with a firm spine, becoming a solid foundation for all that moves within you. Gently soften your body to receive the breath.

Make noise with your out breath. Hear yourself let something go.

Allow the in breath to simply arrive. Feel how your body can make room for it.

Be both still and moving, both solid and ephemeral.

Stay as long as you like.

JOURNAL

Where am I able to find a sense of ground in the midst of this intensity? What feels solid right now?

What is being uncovered in me in these times? How can I be tender with these aspects of my self?

What can I ask the intensity to teach me?