if life was a beach – therapy

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I love being in a place,

surrounded by people,

simply being.

All of us at our finest,

simple existence.

Free from work troubles,

finances, and any of the worries

of life – just free.

Funny, it is, the way we live.

Working so hard and long,

wasting away so much that we must

find a place, in or near,

the middle of nowhere to disconnect,

and exist in community.

Breathing deeply,

and exhaling, renewed.

Doing all things that we love that don’t fit into our busy schedules.

Reading,

Soaking up the sun,

Listening to the sounds of nature,

Boating,

Fishing,

Breathing,

Dreaming,

Writing.

Being.

Listening,

to the still,

small voice.

Here it doesn’t have to fight for attention.

Here it can be heard.

Amongst the leaves and the breeze,

the songs of birds, calls of loons, and the glurps of fishes.

It is heard in the late night whispers,

and uninterrupted conversations – finally made time for.

In connections with old friends,

or striking conversations with new ones.

Free, together, we are at our finest,

and the still, small voice is heard.

We are calm.

The therapy of sand sifting through our toes,

and refreshing, brisk waves enveloping our souls.

As we swim away our worries,

and our fears.

Here, we are free.

If life was a beach,

we would all be lovers (not haters)

this I guarantee.

We would be givers (not takers).

Freely investing in each other’s lives,

we would become the best possible versions of ourselves.

If life was a beach.

If all the ground we treaded upon

was sand, we would be strong.

Persevering through the heat,

and swift through the cold,

we would continue onward.

Footprints left behind

we could see when we were carried.

Easily, we could track the lost,

and follow until they were found.

If all the ground was sand.

If all the broken was water,

we indeed would be healed.

Mind, body, and soul.

Our thirst quenched.

Our scum washed clean.

Sleeplessness would exist nary,

as mother earth would calm us,

into an eternal-like slumber.

If all broken was water.

If all wrongs turns were right turns,

We would never get lost.

No longer would we fret

about where we were going,

or how long it’d take us

to get there.

We would just go,

and be,

and turn as we please.

If all wrong turns were right turns.

If life was a beach,

we’d simply follow the water:

enhancing our muscles in the sand,

healing our broken in the water,

and not ever (like ever),

wonder where we were wandering,

or how fast we could get there.

If life was a beach.

 

 

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