Ground and center...Imagine yourself seated comfortably on a sand dune overlooking the ocean. White sand reflecting the comfortable warmth of the early morning sun. Newly sprouted sea grass, the hopeful green of new life, grows at your feet. Seagulls ride the warm breeze blowing out to sea as fiddler crabs dash about on the sand, washed by the rise and fall of the waters.
You scan the blue-green waters, stretching out to infinity, where you see nothing but the waters’ eternal rise and fall, like a cradle rocked by the Goddess’s steady hand. Little by little, your attention drifts, drifts from the horizon to the nearer waves, from the nearer waves to the surf line, where the water meets the land. The waters rise..... and fall, rise...... and fall, rise...... and fall in an endless pirouette.
Suddenly you notice that the winds have changed direction, that they now blow from the sea. You notice darkness has fallen, and a waxing moon hangs in the sky. You do not understand how so much time could have passed. You continue to watch the surf pound the shore.
Soon the sun rises and the winds once more blow from the land. Now summer’s fiercest heat beats down upon you. Fat round pelicans patrol the surf. The sea grass is tall and luxuriant. Its rich seed-bearing heads nod in time with the waves. You watch them until once again night falls. A full moon hangs in the black sky as warm breezes blow in off the water.
Almost before you know it, the sun rises again and the winds, now cool again once more change direction. Mahogany-hued seeds hang from the sea grass, which rustles in the breeze. Plump brown shore birds scuttle along the beach, looking for the bounty the tide has left them. The pounding of the ocean, resounding like a great drum, continues. It sweeps you along until suddenly you notice darkness has fallen. The wind blows cold form the ocean and a waning moon hangs serenely in the sky.
One last time the sun rises. The winds blow from the land, cold and bitter. The sea grass, withered and dry, pokes forlornly through the sand. Lonely seagulls cry as a great ghost crab scuttles its way through the surf. And the night, pitch black moonless night, falls. Orion and Taurus glisten in the darkness, their brilliant points of light a sharp contrast to the inky blackness. The wind blows from over the waters, chilling the very core of your being.
Closing your eyes, you shut out the cold, shut out the wind’s howl, shut out the gulls’ cries, shut out everything but the great drumbeat of the waters. You listen, listen to its voice—what ends must begin, what begins must end, what ends must begin again—listen until the voice itself fades and you hear—nothing.
In the darkness, in the silence, in the stillness, you reach out to a place beyond space, to a time beyond time. You reach out to a place beyond space, to a time beyond time. You reach out, and do—nothing. You wait for the message that will come to you. It might be a sight, a sound, a touch, a taste, an emotion—or a symbol in some sense that has no name.
—waiting—
Little by little, the sound of the waves returns. The sound of the gulls, the warm sun and sea breeze take you back, back to the dune from which the meditation began, surrounded by newly sprouted sea grass. You stand and salute the measureless ocean, thanking it for what you have received. The scene fades. You return to your circle.
Take time to reflect on the message you have received—its meaning is likely to not be apparent. If interpretation does not come readily to you, wait several days before taking any action, giving your deeper mind time to understand what it has experienced and express it in a comprehensible fashion, perhaps in a dream.