This month I went to the coast for a few days with friends, renting a place in a sleepy beach town. Inevitibly each afternoon we’d find ourselves sitting in a row of Adirondack chairs, letting long gaps of silence pass in between intermittently commenting on the state of the ocean. Like maritime stenographers compiling a daily report: “No whales today” ; “The tide is exceptionally high” ; “Rough waters out there.”
I have a tendency to hold tight to rigidity, enforced by self-created (and admittedly arbitrary), subconscious rules.The ocean reminds me that I — and everything around me — is always changing, in flux, a wave of motion and slippery intangibility. This month there are just two Moon Lists, but in both I was comforted by others’ encounters with current states of presence amid older versions of themselves, and the specific feeling (peace? satisfaction? nostalgia?) that comes from recognizing you have, despite everything, moved ahead.