We skip stones by the shore. Jan drove our unsober butts to this rocky beach near the city.
We look straight into the horizon. We appreciate the contrast of color between the ocean and the sky, and the straightness of the line that cuts between them. Mikko jokes, “But there’s a slight curve of course”—quick to avoid any flat-earther allegations.
There’s a clear vertical contrast as well. The rain clouds roll towards the west, taking the showers with them. We stand exactly under where these dark clouds meet the blue sky.
“It’s like we’re in a painting,” Mikko says. “We painted it,” I tell him, “what we see is what we paint.”
I notice the most ordinary-looking rock suspended in the sand right at the edge of the water. Every second, a new ripple coats its surface with sea.
I tell Che how it reminds me of large, magnificent waves crashing into the human-sized rocks usually found by the edge of an island or cliff. The only difference is, we’re too big to notice the similar magnificence of the ripples right below our feet. In principle, they’re the same. It’s a matter of perspective, we both agree.
At five in the afternoon, we say goodbye to the beach and to our little spot where we had taken refuge from the rain.
While walking back to the car, it dawns on me that everything we have is just borrowed. Everything we “own” we eventually have to return to the world. “Even our bodies,” Jj points out.
I realize now that even our problems, which are often rooted in attachments and possessions, are just as significant as their roots, which I’m convinced are simply borrowed. Meaning, there is little sense in holding on to them. I lavish in this realization.
I’m grateful to have been allowed to borrow the space we occupied on the beach, and the time spent with my friends. We leave and there’s really nothing more to say than thank you.