A Stretch of Beach

A long stretch of desolate beach, barely visible in the budding sunrise. Miles of sand, unsullied by tire tracks or footprints. Early in the morning, before the heat of the day causes gusty winds, the stillness of the air is otherworldly. Pelicans glide near the surface of the water, almost touching the ripples of waves, searching for food.

I am utterly alone in this picture in my mind. I am on this beach, watching the day begin to unfold. The desolation and isolation and emptiness seems to me a gift. Here, there are no worries. There is only this beach and its natural inhabitants. I am at peace here, watching crabs scurry across the sand. They belong here and so do the clams burrowing into the sand. And then there is me, the only unnatural inhabitant.

The realization that this place pleases my senses and softens my mood and brings to me a sense of serenity bothers me because I do not belong here. I am an intruder, an interloper who in that realization rightfully feels ill at ease in the presence of creatures that do belong here. I am embarrassed at my comfort where I am out of place.

I do not belong anywhere. Two hundred thousand years ago, I would have belonged on this beach. I would have belonged anywhere I could roam. I would have been a natural inhabitant seeking food and shelter. Whether my emotions would have been the same as the ones I feel today I do not know. But I can imagine seeking solace in desolate places, looking for a small group of creatures like me whose wonder at the universe around me would mirror mine.

Solace. That’s an odd word to use in connection with early humans. I wonder whether early humans needed to be comforted in their pain? Are other animals really different from us? When whales or pelicans or foxes are injured, do they simply soldier on through the pain, or do they feel a need for others of their kind to comfort them? I tend to anthropomorphize animals. But I think the concept should be turned on its head. Perhaps humans’ need for solace arises from our origins deep in the animal kingdom. We simply honed a want into a necessity; craving became a condition for life, like breathing.

I am no longer particularly concerned about the pandemic. I am satisfied to stay at home and let the world spin as it will. While I’d rather not go out to pick up groceries or medicines or mail, I do. That, too, is a necessity. I would rather ride out the pandemic on on a secluded stretch of sand, though. But I would feel just as out of place there as I feel anywhere else.

Humans have outlived our utility. We have raided and pillaged the planet on which we and so many other species depend. It is an embarrassment to life that we have done such unspeakable damage to our only home. And the damage has invaded us, as well. We have damaged our minds and we are unable to repair them. We seem unable to return them to a natural state. We are beyond atonement for what we have done. Departure is the only redemption available to us. But we won’t go. Because we are self-centered and egotistical and convinced of our superiority over every other living thing. I thing we are Nature’s most visible mistake. We represent Nature’s extraordinary complexity gone horribly awry. We could have become gifts to life on Earth. Instead, we became deadly parasites.

Despite all this, I long for that desolate beach. The isolation and the glorious sunrise and the soft sounds of gentle waves lapping the shoreline at this early hour call out to me. In spite of my role as an intruder, if I have to be an intruder, that is where I want to do it. I suppose I’ll have to just let my fantasy play out in my head, because I cannot get to that beach. I don’t even know where to look. Humans have invaded beaches that once were pristine, empty places that welcomed us, as long as we promised to visit and leave. But when we decided to move in and take over the shoreline, those desolate, isolated, soul-nourishing beaches disappeared. In my mind, though, they still exist. I will go there.