Hawaii Epiphany

By Casey O’Donnell

I'm sitting in the warm salt water with the bright sun heating my back. The sand here is white and delicate, not one shell or sharp rock. It's almost like a thick white blanket is laid over the beach, creating a soft cushioning for my feet. I am digging my fingers into the sand, combing through it gently. I pick up fistfuls of wet sand and drizzle it onto dry sand, resulting in little sculptures that eventually get swept away by the waves. The landscape is lined with big black lava rocks on each side of me. They look rough and dry, with black noddy birds perched on each sharp edge. Large green weepy willow trees gently sway with the salty wind bordering the back of the beach. I float on my back, spreading my fingers and closing my eyes.

I feel weightless; my body moves with the current. I haven't felt this at peace in a long time. My rosy cheeks and sand-coated skin are precisely what I needed. Being in the ocean provides comfort like no other. My auntie and I acknowledge each other, floating by and smiling, but we give each other space to flourish in our own headspace. She is the most beautiful soul. She thanks the water for letting us swim in a beautiful Hawaiian chant. I go to sit on the part of the shore that allows the gentle waves to break over me. With each wave that approaches, I think of something I wish to be gone from my presence: worry, doubt, even insecurities. I let the wave brush over me, taking my concerns along with it. As my anxieties crash on the shore, I'm left with a lighter spirit. As the water draws back from the sand, it brings hope, happiness, and gratitude.

My worries aren't as big when I'm sitting in the sand, letting the light blue sky and crystal clear water take me over. Things I dwell on can be healed by nature's warm presence. I walk up to my towel that's gently placed on a limb of the weepy tree, and we prepare to leave the beach. I take a deep breath and get one last look at the alluring landscape, the blue water swirling and falling onto the sand. We walk back to the parking lot and get into my Aunt's old red pickup truck, sitting down and resting from our long day at the beach. The drive home is a few hours, so I curl up in the rough blue beach towel and restfully stare out the window. I look at the lava rock coating the grounds, dry, sandy fields with sparse bushes and little red flowers. Beautiful mountains with water trickling down the vast mossy crevices.

My Aunt breaks the restful silence with a question. "Did the ocean tell you anything?" I sit for a moment, reflecting on my experience at the beach. I replied, "It told me my worries are not as significant as my mind makes them out to be." A short, silent moment passes by, I glance over at her, and she's smiling. "It told me the same thing," she says. My eyes widen, and I fall back into my seat. A little rain starts falling, dusting the light gray pavement and turning it black. Hawaii is so beautiful; nature and love are powerful and vibrant here. My eyes flutter shut, and I fall asleep, dreaming of the beauty and significance of my day.