Vitamin Sea – Ocean Wave to Brain Wave

Last fall I moved from one beautiful state to another. I traded the majesty of the Colorado mountains for the healing powers of the ocean on the California Redwood Coast. My sinuses thank me.

The coast had been calling to me for quite some time, and its voice became so urgent that I could no longer be content to just sit and listen to it. We were fortunate to have been able to pack a rental truck full of our things and drive the 1,330 miles to our new home here.

In California, I expected relief from constant spring, summer, and fall sneezing and stuffy headiness, of sinus infections, of not being able to go into the Colorado mountains for most of the year, of sometimes crying myself to sleep because no relief seemed possible. I expected to take long walks under the redwood trees and to take in deep breaths of the brisk ocean air, all without compromising my sinuses. And that is certainly what I got. But what I didn’t expect was how the ocean would heal my body from years of allergy abuse, as well as how it would heal my soul.

I had lost my husband, the love of my lifetimes, three years and a few short months before I moved here. It was the second marriage for both of us, and our bond was stronger than any I’d experienced ever before. The gods seemed to have orchestrated our connection and our marriage. He proposed to me the day after we met, and I wondered what took him so long to pop the question. We were married three months later, and he was diagnosed with dementia nine months after our wedding. Certainly not what can usually happen nine months after a wedding (ahem).

Our love remained unwavering throughout his illness, and that love will be with me always. We had been married less than six years. I grieved for him from the moment he had been diagnosed and grieve for him still. I have continued living. I had to. Life presses onward, and we must move with it. Still, I don’t know how I got so lucky to have since met a sweet, caring man to build a new life with. And perhaps luckier still that he too wanted to move from Colorado.

I grieve to this day for my husband and probably always will, although to a degree where it won’t affect my everyday routines as it once did (at least, I hope not). I understand grief is that way. It never leaves. It’s always there, lying dormant under the surface. To some extent, it will always be there.

During my husband’s illness, I kept journals and notes, records of our lives together. Using them as a reference, I was determined to write a book about my transformative experiences and intuitive revelations that came from loving him and seeing him through the dementia. However, I hit a brick wall the moment I began to work on the second draft. I simply couldn’t write any more. Grief overtook me. It put me into depression where fits of crying carried me to more intense places than where I had been before, and I had been to some hellish places. In short, I felt like I was headed for the funny farm and that I would certainly go crazy if I didn’t stop working on the book. So I stopped. It pained me to stop, but I had to care for myself. Just a little break.

And then I moved here, near the ocean. The sea called me. I would go to it, walk along the shore, stand in front of it and sense its rhythm and power. I let the sound of the waves building and crashing entrain my brain waves until we were synched up–ocean wave to brain wave–and became one. I consciously inhaled the air, full of sea spray and (I found out later) healthy negative hydrogen ions, that helped balance my serotonin levels to increase my mood and decrease my stress (which I didn’t believe I had but did). I felt strangely energized and relaxed simultaneously.

And then one day, three months after moving here, my inner guidance system lead me to my laptop and opened the file I hadn’t opened for more than two years. I wrote. And I continue to write. The book is coming along fine, thank you very much, and all is well. I continue my appointments with the sea. You can’t manage grief or the stress of grief. You can only let it out, ocean wave to brain wave and back.

Here’s a minute of ocean, some vitamin sea:

For more vitamin sea videos I took for you, go to my YouTube channel, Whispering Drums.


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