There’s No Place Like Home: The Big Blue

Linda BallouBy Linda Ballou      July 9, 2021

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There’s No Place Like Home: The Big Blue
PHOTO BY LINDA BALLOU Malibu Pier at Surfrider Beach
Whether it is the deep swells of azure blue in Hawai’i, the teasing turquoise of a tropical lagoon, or the curling blue waves that crash in foamy white on the shore in Malibu, I am drawn to water. Water is my element. Eighty percent of the earth’s surface is covered with the stuff. Our bodies are composed of 80% water. Is it any wonder that when I enter the ocean I feel like I am coming home? In the embrace of the sea my mind is set free. The weight of muscle and bone are lifted and I move effortlessly buoyed in the arms of the Big Blue. Sounds from the shore become muffled and all I hear are my own thoughts. I am cocooned from all that is happening in the outside world while cradled in the loll of the swells. When I first enter the ocean at the pier in Malibu, I feel a tingling sensation that shoots through the top of my head. It takes my breath away, but I know in 60 seconds I will be acclimated. After the initial shock, the sensation is invigorating waking my whole body from a deep sleep. I’m not a strong swimmer so I never let my guard down and keep an eye out for mounting swells that come in sets of seven. I am afraid of the power and heft of the monster waves as they lift me, but then they roll on to pound onto the shore and I am at peace again.
PHOTO BY LINDA BALLOU Lovers stroll along the beach at sunset
On the days when the surf is too high I lie beneath my umbrella listening to the ceaseless conversation of the waves crashing in thunderous crescendo. I watch the surfers sifting in and out of the waves and envy their ability to ride on the back of the powerful bearded monsters.

In hopes of cashing in on the kinetic energy flying around me, I do my meditations sending good thoughts to those in need. I spread arms with palms up in order to fill up at the universal energy pump. They can’t raise the price on that one. I end my salutations with a nod of gratitude to Sky Father in his Blue Dome smeared with feathery white clouds.
PHOTO BY LINDA BALLOU Om Yoga on the beach
I watch the curlews, and whimbrels stabbing for tidbits in the sand. I love the tiny sanderlings running in formation in and out of the foam of receding waves on spindly legs that look like spinning wheels. I stroll at the sea’s edge taking in the ever changing, kaleidoscopic designs left by the waves returning to the depths. The calmer water at low tide kisses the shore sweetly in waves of celadon green that fans into aqua-marine and dies in the deepest blue.

When I arrive in L.A. after a long flight, I rush to the shore to let my molecules settle back into place. The sea purls sweetly to the shore at my feet. A couple of kayakers paddle past the big rock where waves crash sending a white rooster tail of spray. A flock of arctic terns, cousins to the many I saw in Alaska, are here. So nice to rest and listen to the lulling waves after the main heat of the day. I am grateful for the healing balm of the vast blue stretching to the horizon. The sensuality of the warm sand, golden sun, light breeze and the parade of gentle folk enjoying the long dog days of summer. I am home once more at the seat of the Big Blue.
Linda Ballou

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