We call it the Rocky Beach. It’s tradition to go there as a family Christmas day, whoever’s gathered here in Dana Point that year. It’s where I go to be alone any time. At least, mostly alone. The few that come are here for the same thing, or with one friend, or two, walking the rugged path beneath the bluffs, or stepping gingerly down the rocks to the tide pools, long since mostly picked clean, despite the sign, but still worth a look.
I do all this too, but I also stop and park, sitting on and leaning against some combination of rock, warm on the back if the day’s been sunny. Shirtless is good when the weather’s right, and shoeless.
I watch the ever-moving water, churning without stop over the shore’s bouldered border. And I wonder what makes the water white, the waves foaming as they break.
And I listen . . . rather, hear . . . as there’s no way you can’t hear the roar, the pound, the lapse. Sometimes it’s a passing boat that catches the eye, or just the distance, or the sky (major distance).
Sometimes I bring a book. Once, I decided to read a certain book here “religiously.” It was not a religious book. I came every afternoon at about the same time. I sat against the same rock, except when the tide determined otherwise, then I took another. (There has to be some flexibility in ritual.) I read that book, one chapter a day, in front of the waves, in the wind, in the sun, or in the gray on overcast days with fog horn blowing off shore. It was great. Now that rock and Van Gogh remind me of each other, at least sometimes.*
But mostly I just come here to be. Not far at my back to the east, the south, and especially to the north, 15 million souls, or is it 20, scurry to keep schedules, their long-term goals, their short-term pleasures. But here, it’s just me and the waves and the rocks and the sun and the sky, maybe a book to read, and a blank one for these notes. It’s a place just to be. And always here for me.
Here’s 20 seconds of it just to give you an idea.
PS Thanks for all those commenting on my birthday blog. You added to the message.
* The book: Van Gogh’s Untold Journey, Revelations of Faith, Family, & Artist Inspiration, by my friend, William J. Havlicek, Ph.D.
Our Lives Together
Its About Life
8:48 pm
Hyatt – those rocks and especially that huge boulder look very familiar! Hope all is well with you and Anne.
Much love,
Rhonda Eubanks
PS – we just married off our sweet baby girl Blair! She was only 10 when we came to California and now she is married! Time goes so fast!
9:16 am
Yes, it was the same place. Hope you’re still enjoying that large family portrait that came from the time: http://hyattmoore.com/painting/Eubanks_in_Dana_Point
8:33 am
Thank you brother Hyatt (brother in Christ) for the share here. Van Gogh’s Untold Journey was also a journey for me in the writing of it. I say that because there are multiple views of who Vincent was — many current views are not all positive. In fact there are aspects of his person which were destructive. However there was to my surprise proof of much Godly intervention in his life and heart struggle — a believer discerns these times of God’s Hand in ones life by studying the Gospel and living the Christ-following life. My task was to offer readers actual letters where Vincent talked about these times of calling. At the end of his life (and the details of that death remain controversial) he was painting overtly Gospel Parables and his letters show a desire to reform and seek forgiveness for the wayward and destructive periods of his life. I think his letters of confession reveal a Redemptive calling—- or recallng- in his final days. The Untold Journey is something we can all learn from.
Blessings, Bill
9:32 am
Yes, Bill, you completed his story in a marvelous way. I, for one, am grateful.
9:07 am
OH thank you! How I love the ocean and always will!!! Being up here in WA more inland, (we can get to the ocean pretty fast but it is so cold and different than sunny warm CA!!) we have the forests.. and the river….gorgeous area to sit and think and read. But only for about 3 months out of the year. Anyway, gorgeous to look at too from our windows. I think the Lord is so gracious and magnificent and amazing to provide this “calm” for us in the midst of so many storms that come and go in our lives. Thank you Hyatt once again for your solitude, your sharing your HS thoughts with all of us and stating them so eloquently!! You are an amazing writer as well as an amazing artist!! God speed! Love to your precious Anne and family! Love Lisa
9:30 am
Thanks, Lisa. Yes, there are places just to be wherever we find them.
3:48 am
Yes, Hyatt, you are a beautiful writer, artist, and contemplative. Lovely entry! Just reading it adds a sense of peace to my soul, as it reminds me to return to what is good, pure, and unhurried. Your reflection by the sea coupled with Bill’s comment on Van Gogh’s search to repent of the “wayward and destructive periods,” speaks of the way God patiently waits “by the sea” for our return to Him when we have gone a stray. He waits for us to come and seek His grace when we have chosen anger, unforgiveness, fear, and self-pity rather than peace and pardon, faith and gratitude. Thank you for the beautiful reminder to return unto Him this day! You use the time given so well!
9:52 am
We call it the “Secret Spot” Jen and I go there often to unwind and breath.
3:01 pm
Love this musing, Hyatt! I recognize your “rocky beach” as the tide pool area just below the headlands/Ocean Institute. I love your description of this beautiful spot and love that one can pretend that no one else is there.
It’s so hard to find solitude these days, isn’t it? Most days, I walk down to Capistrano Beach in the morning and almost feel disappointed when I meet neighbors along the way and pause to chat. Ironic because I love my neighbors, but I also crave alone time. I loved walking down with my dog Eddie before he passed away and finding a deserted beach – most days covered in cobble, but once in awhile a miraculous shift of current left a pristine and glorious sandy beach. The ocean always reminds me of the power of nature and my insignificance, but then I remember that every grain of sand, and every hair on our heads, is numbered and matters to our Creator. The dichotomy of “big” and “small” all at once.