Chris in Bliss
Across from the “throne” in our guest bathroom we have a collage of beach and lighthouse scenes: prints, water colors, oils, and one photo.
The photo is my all time favorite. Not because it is of me – because of what I’m doing. It was taken many years ago when I was living in the harsh Arizona desert. On a trip to visit family in Southern California, a couple of my siblings, nieces and I went to the beach. Redondo, I think. Not planning on going swimming, I was dressed in street clothes – black slacks and a white turtle-neck.
I just needed to be there. To connect with the ocean.
I laid down on the sand, with my arms stretched out at my side. I was lying on the beach, parallel to the shore and I was ascending into heaven. Oh how I missed this.
I closed my eyes and breathed. The tang of saline-drenched air created a nostalgic glow inside. The sum of a lot of warm fuzzie memories at the beach growing up, unwound a giant coil inside of me.
I could taste the salt on my lips from the mist of the waves. The blue of the sky and teal of the ocean were imprinted on my mind’s eye.
I felt the warmth from the sand easing my muscles into relaxation like a giant heating pad set on low. I felt the warmth of the sun on my face. Warm. Not hot. The perfect, most comfortable temperature.
The sound of distant gulls and people laughing and talking were muffled causes of delight while the rhythmic soft crash of the waves on the beach and the whoosh as they receded, deepened my relaxation.
I didn’t sleep. I went into bliss.
Never in my life had I been so in the moment.
That’s when someone snapped the photo of Chris in Bliss with my two (then) young nieces frolicking in the waves in the background.
Now, whenever I need to, I can recapture that moment. That feeling of utter deliciousness.
That feeling of Chris in Bliss.