undulatio, undulationis, f., noun, or what you can’t see

This is me (well, the tips of my shoes anyway) sitting on the cliffs at South Point on the Big Island – the southernmost tip of the island (and the US).

What is it about standing (or sitting) on the shore looking out over the ocean to the horizon? Knowing that you’re safe on firm ground while entranced by the quite literal undulation (Latin geeks, rejoice) all around you?

I have one theory. I think that, as much as we fear the unknown, we’re also intrigued by it, in wonder of it. What lies beneath those waves? You know it’s teeming with life, but you only see glimpses from above when a whale breaks the surface, or a gull dives down and grabs dinner. Life. Happening at the same time, in our awareness but out of our sight.

Thinking about that makes me feel the fullness of this world. There is so much I have no clue about. I don’t have to know everything, but I’ll be damned if fear gets to choose my experiences for me. That’s my job.

south point

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