surrealism at sea

It was about 11:00 in the morning. It was quiet. Only a few early birds out. It’s Spain, so 11:00 is early. The water was calm. Glassy. Sparkly. I walked the coastline to feel into and find the perfect place to cozy up for my Morning Pages. 

There was a nice big gap between a couple of people that was calling me. I walked up as close as one could to the water without being in it. I wanted front row seats to the sea.

I laid out my towel, lathered on the sunscreen, pulled out my journal, popped off the pen’s cap and got to writing.

Sitting in front of the calm, clear blue Mediterranean made me think about how surreal this entire experience has all been so far. To have found such a unique pet sitting opportunity where I get to take care of two of the sweetest cats in my happy place. In the mountains. With a weekend bus service direct to the beach. In Spain.

As I wrote the word surreal, I immediately thought about how, coincidentally enough, if you break down the word into two, sur and real, there’s a pretty cool connection to where I am situated in the world. Here. Now.

Sur means south in Spanish and as I was writing this, I was literally in the South of Spain. You can’t get much more southern than Andalucía in mainland España. Real means the same thing in English as it does in Spanish. And I was really there. 

I wrote about how I wondered how this was all coming together for me. How was it that I was getting to experience something so incredibly magical? All my favorite things in life. All at once. I chalked it up to my Higher Power: Nature. That must be what’s at play. 

I gave my hand a break to marvel out at the Med and pondered who could be aligning all this for me? Could it be my late loved ones looking out — making sure that I’m safe, sound and experiencing serenity?

I noticed some seagulls flying in a circle not too far ahead in the distance. I immediately thought of Lynn, my bird lady friend.

And as if on cue — and Lynn was telling me to really look in this exact sur direction — right below the soaring birds, a dolphin breached. I was stunned. Mesmerized. Seconds later it surged out of the water. A couple of times. I was in absolute awe. Shock.

I grabbed my camera in hopes to capture another jump. Unfortunately there weren’t any more (that I saw), but at least I got the breach a couple more times as it swam further out to sea.

I believe Lynn was there, Larry and Dad, too. She and them were those birds pointing out the incredible beauty about to breach. To really show me the meaning of surreal.

Fast forward to eight months later, just a couple of weeks ago, as I’m writing this musing now. I return to the same spot. This time with some of my dad’s ashes. I wanted to bring him to my happy place. I also knew he loved the water. He was a fisherman.

I sprinkled him in. Set the jar back on the rocks and went for a swim. With him. A seagull flew up above. He was there, too. And he’ll forever always be when I’m also there, in my happy place.

The other day, I ran up the mountain one last time (this time) to my spot above the valley. There was a lone bird soaring slowly, higher and higher. I felt Dad’s presence — flowing up the valley from the sea to be with me. It was so surreal.