At the edges of the earth, sky heavy with salt and sea spray, if you look out into the horizon you may see nothing but water for miles. No land in sight, only mystery, only depths beneath a liquid surface that hold an unseen world of life beneath.
At the edges of ourselves, at our breaking points and dead ends and limits, could we choose to look out and wonder what unseen things are just below the surface? Could we stand on the shore within, feet sinking into the sand of the soul, knowing that what our eyes behold is not the whole picture, not our whole story, not the end of things?
We may be inclined to greet raging waves and dark waters as though there is nothing to be found beneath them, wringing our hands, flinging hope out into the tide. But perhaps we can find evidence of who we are becoming as we walk along the shore, spotting seashells and plunking them into our pockets, gathering proof of what may be found below all that is tumultuous and unknown. We might bear witness to the waves carrying towards us unexpected treasures from the dark and deep, lustrous and gleaming, gently polished by the water’s churning.
Perhaps we’ll find here that even the sharpest things are softened by time, like shattered bottles turned to sea glass. Perhaps we can collect sand laden proof of beauty beneath the visible, hands heavy with the lessons that we’ve gathered from the shores of life’s depths. And perhaps we will begin to see it: that our edges are never the end, only the coast of what we’ve known.