Dirt, dirt, dirt—globs of orangish clay in piles next to my front sidewalk. The plumber with decades of experience rides a mini front loader digging down to address the problem, How can I live here all these years and not see these pipes? He scoops out large piles of dirt and looks to his hefty helper guy to dig further with the shovel. I am in awe.

I am relieved to be here. Everything going on in my life drifts into a backdrop and this scene comes to the front. Simple, beautiful, the rhythm of walking. Nothing matters, everything matters. I don’t have control. My role is to align and surrender, to be willing to give with generosity and to sacrifice whatever limited ideas I have about right or wrong, good or bad.

The ocean sparkles as we stand on the open beach on this blustery cold day.  Winds whip our faces as we feel the breath almost pulled out by the force of it. Carmen in her 8-year-old self, wrapped in winter coat runs towards the water, waving her arms here on Assateague, a National Seashore. A wave comes up and sloshes into her shoes. She screams and runs back to me, face beaming. How can the sea melt so many dusty thoughts in an instant?