The Great Discipline

"And the great discipline, remembering to drive the road into that disappearing gleam
and not lost sight of the beckoning interior horizon." From "Star" by David Whyte

The wind was wild at the coast last night, cracking the canvas walls of my tent against the wood frame, making it difficult to sleep straight through. Dreams came and went, as did my dim fears, the kind my mind rehearses in the night. "Would a branch on the tree above come crashing down onto the tent?" Every time I woke, I just as easily went back to sleep.

Stepping outside in the morning, I realized that the wind sounded much worse than it was. I pulled on my warm clothes, made a cup of coffee, and headed down the familiar trail past the eucalyptus grove, to the beach.

I climbed the first rise of dunes. The morning light in the grey sky was lighting up the marsh.

And then I was walking again. My mind rehearsed a talk I have to give next week. Until I came to the last rise just before the beach. A stunning rainbow stretched from end to end of the ocean. I sat down.

Then I turned and began to walk toward the point where a single bench faces the wild sea. A giant elephant seal was making its way toward the water. He hadn't seen me so I paused, allowing him his morning peace.

On the bench, I hunkered down into my green fleece and stared at the turbulent ocean. The wind was strong. Above me seagulls were floating on it. Pelicans hovered over the ocean and then dove. Two dolphins briefly surfaced. An elephant seal came up for air.

This is why I honor the great discipline of sabbath.