Rise Above the Fog- Mobile Art by Tracey Grumbach

About this image:  Lying on my back on a foggy, rainy morning at the beach in Florida, a seagull flew in to shore. It rode the waves of air streaming in from the Gulf, gliding on the wings of the storm that was rolling in from off shore. Oh, to have wings and fly. To lift our bodies from the gravity of earth and soar above the din, the noise that fills my head every time that I turn on the news or read Facebook or get Twitter alerts. I have to unplug. I can't take the yelling, the disagreeing, the blaming, the self pity, the...everything. I can't take everyone telling me what to think, when to think, and how to think, and when I don't think as they do, they tell me I am a horrible, terrible person and not supportive of meaningful things. It has rubbed me raw and I choose from today on to reduce the noise. Unplug. See the positive, choose love. I choose to lift, if not my body, then my soul, as the seagull does, above the fog, above the storm, and fly toward the light and calmer seas. I must, for my own well being, and so I will.

While doing my daily morning reading and devotion, I came across this advice from the Dalai Lama-

A great deal of suffering comes from having too many thoughts. And, at the same time, the way we think is not sane. We are only concerned by our immediate satisfaction and forget to measure its long-term advantages and disadvantages, either for ourselves or for others. But such an attitude always goes against us in the end. There is no doubt that by changing our way of seeing things we could reduce our current difficulties and avoid creating new ones.

Have a beautiful day, if only in your mind and soul, because the weather sure isn't helping matters.

xo

Caution in the Wind

Caution in the Wind

The wind blew off the Gulf in a steady gust, making the caution flag stand stiff and straight toward the shore. The whitecaps were pounding the beach, pushing the salt water roughly into the powdery sand of the number one beach destination in Florida...Siesta Beach. The grey clouds of rain gathered just off shore in the distance, threatening and teasing. And yet people came with hope and anticipation that the day would just get better.

As much as I wanted to get into the healing waters of the sea, I knew I couldn't. I shouldn't risk coming in contact with a jellyfish and going into anaphylactic shock. I've been allergic to them since I was stung as a teen and still carry an epi-pen every time I go to the beach. The wind of off-shore storms will often push the creatures closer to shore and cause an issue for me. Despite all my family telling me they had not seen any, I stayed huddled on the beach while they swam. Days like these I feel alone in a crowd and left sitting out of life as an observer. It's like I'm watching the action inside a snow globe, shaking the snow all around to make it swirl, yet I can't be a part of the world inside. It's a weird and isolating feeling.

As the rain began to spit and then steadily soak our belongings, I packed up our most precious possessions that would be damaged in the rain and trekked off to the pavilion for cover. I was part of a herd like exodus from the beach. Alone, but in a crowd, I was now too far away to even watch my family in the waves. Normally I never feel sorry for myself because I would never want anyone else to have the medical issues I do, but that day, I just wanted to participate. I just wanted to be normal. I just wanted to do what I wanted without having to gauge the health consequences of my actions. I wanted to live inside the snow globe, not be separated by the glass walls of illness that make me different.

The rain finally subsided and I returned to the beach, this time armed with my phone...if I could not be a part of the action, I could at least record the scene so I could create with it later. And that is just what I did. I was still an observer, but a different sort of observer. I was one with a mission of recording the beauty all around me that I felt I just couldn't quite touch on this day.

Have a beautiful Monday and a blessed week.

xo

Waiting for the Wave

Taken in Rodanthe, Outer Banks, North Carolina.

Have a wonderful weekend, y'all.  Mine is kinda crazy, so I will see you on the flip side!  xo

Ancient Urges

A view of the dunes looking toward the sea along Barefoot Beach, Florida

Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war.

~Loren Eiseley

I never was much of a beach person growing up.  I didn't like the sand in my suit, or the harsh waves and undertow.  I didn't like being so dang hot.  I didn't like the greenish, murky water of the Mid-Atlantic where there were sea creatures lurking beyond my sight.  I am allergic to jellyfish stings, so nothing about dying by anaphylactic shock sounded like vacation to me.  The seashore just didn't hold any sort of appeal.

One of the many things that has changed since I became sick and was eventually diagnosed with Late Disseminated Lyme Disease is the fact that one of my most favorite places in the world now is, in fact, the beach.  Strange how things like this happen.  Something that held no mystery for me previously nows captures my attention and wanting like nothing else.  Where once I hated being hot, I now yearn for the warmth that takes away the constant cold ache in my bones.  Where once I hated the sand, I now appreciate the softness it offers to my body as I lie on my beach towel, it forming to the contours of my body and supporting me like a snug bed.  Where I once hated the green murky waters of the Mid-Atlantic, I have found my calling in the serene glass-like warm turquoise waters of the Gulf of Mexico.  I find myself longing, in a very primal sense, to return to the sea, the salt water, the sounds, smells, and sensations of the beach.

The sea feels like healing, a soothing balm to my sore, tired body, and a medication for my busy, overwhelmed mind.  When I meditate, I find myself in my mind's eye, alone on a pristine white beach with turquoise water gently lapping on shore, seabirds calling in the distance, a warm yellow beam of light filling me all the way into each cell of my body.  It is my go-to comfort spot in my mind when things are just too much.

Many times I am thankful that I have to walk through this journey of chronic illness because it has changed me on such a deep level for the better.  My view of the world and my everyday life is so much sweeter...I appreciate things so much more.  My view of the sea is one of these things that has changed, and I am happier for it.  Now, if only I could move closer to the Gulf... ;)

It's good to be back blogging and sharing my experiences with you.  I hope you had a blessed week while I was away.  I know I missed all of you.

xo