There is a peculiar peace in studying the detritus washed up by the sea.
If the beach is unmarked by any other footsteps but your own, or you walk in the part of sand washed clean of evidence of other feet by the tides efficient sweep, the pieces of sea-smoothed sand, cuttlefish, shells, small pieces of seaweed, look as if they have been laid on a perfect canvas for your private perusal and wonder.
In general, meditation is not something I excel at. Stray thoughts constantly intrude and the long list of things I need to do jabs at me.
However, walking the shore it is easy to fall into a type of flow time, where the only thoughts are an awareness of the lull of the surf, the rush and flow of the tide and the way the ever-changing light falls on water, stone, patterns and pieces of the sand and the seaweed.
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