The First to See the Sea

Funny how memories come back. What sets them off? I was at a retreat a couple of weeks ago, the Tibetan monk, a lovely man, was talking about meditation. Half way through the day I found myself writing in big letters "who is going to be the first to see the sea" What on earth made me think of that. Could it be that that long ago experience looking for the first glimpse of the sea is like a moment in meditation where you feel you have a glimmer of the vast expanse of eternity. The old awe rises up. Perhaps one must, as a child, have the experience of reverence and wonder to be able to access it later on. Actually I do believe that strongly. I was thrilled to be told the other day that there is a movement now called "slow parenting" like the slow food moment. If children are structured every minute of their lives how can they develop an inner life, a relationship to the mystery of being human. Anyway this is a poem about that first amazing view of the sea's magnificence.

The First to See the Sea.

We come off the duel carriage way into the norfolk

country side and head to the coast. with

tin buckets and spades.

Who can see the sea first?

Scrambling to the windows we stare out

of our Morris Minor, scouring the fields,

the newly harvested straw bales,

beyond village spire and copse

between gaps in the hawthorne hedge,

confusing the blue sky with a triumphant shout.

“There it is” a castigating interjection to the contrary,

and silent scan of the horizon resumed.

Daises and chicory peter out to coarser grasses

Over the humpbacked bridge

we are making it without engine trouble

My sister points in belief and disbelief

our eyes lock together on a blue distance

that moves and simmers in the sunlight

we gasp and no one claims victory

because of the vastness, the

seagull salt air and the coming towards

us of dunes and the tambourine of white

foam circling and sucking our feet.

I am telling you now, that it was a long time ago,

a childhood memory urgent for some reason

as I round the last bends in my life

with daunting expenctation of the final expanse,

Even if in a down pour, clounds low, and mist

gathering in the salt swamps

the car barely spluttering along ,

we will see it, indeed we will all see it..