It’s early and the light from the slowly rising sun is a pale glow, barely seeping through the blanket of grey-blue cloud that seems to soften the still air. The tide has withdrawn, leaving behind a slick, shiny residue of salt water, like a glossy glaze over the hard-packed sand. The wet sand mirroring the low-slung sky perfectly.
The shock of the cold, wet sand stings my skin. I remember to breathe, my body softens a little and I slowly let my weight sink into the soles of my feet, the sand shifting beneath my body. The 200,000 sensory receptors on the soles of each foot send mini, electrifying shock waves of sensory information from the sand through my body to my brain in a long, complex and tangled network of neural pathways. This provides my brain with a wealth of sensory feedback about my environment, helping my body to better ‘read’ the shifting terrain, becoming more responsive to subtle changes.
On this westerly facing Atlantic beach I try to move my body to bring some warmth into it. My limbs feel stiff and awkward. I close my eyes and breathe. I listen for the sea. The constancy of the rhythmic pulse of the breaking waves has a soothing effect and the chatter of my mind dies down. I let all the sea sounds wash over my body like a sound bath. I listen for the waves, the pulsing white-noise hum of the surf, fed by a light onshore breeze.
This moment alone on the beach is a moment of both ebb and flow. A state of ebb found in the stillness and aloneness, in the listening to the body and place, and in a quieting of the mind. Ebb is the container for flow, allowing us to tap into a state of flow with greater ease, whenever we take those moments to pause and just be.
When writing my book Ebb and Flow, I wanted to understand whether the fluid nature of water plays a role in shaping our own sense of fluidity of mind, body and spirit. From my years of surfing, I learned that to be ‘in flow’ is not only to be in a state of hyperfocus in the present moment. It is not just a sense of fluidity between the mind and body, but also with the environment you are immersed in.
To embrace our fluidity and find our flow requires an acknowledgement that we are about to enter into relationship with the aliveness of the world. To surf is to be in a dance with the wave. My sea-connection and relationship with the ocean come from years of learning, struggling, practising, so that the energy of the sea might be revealed to me when I surf a wave. For a few fleeting seconds the wave expresses its essence through the body of the surfer.
It is impossible to be in the here and now if you’re not connected to the body. Creating new experiences in the body that counteract old or habitual reactions that have been conditioned into us by our life experiences, history and even geography allows us to reconnect to our intuitive self. The embodiment of the movement of the more-than-human world can help free us from the aching bonds of earthly ties and help us be in a state of receptivity – allowing the sound of the waves or the wingbeats of a seabird to move through the body.
In the parts of our brain that feel feelings or sensations in our bodies we have mirror neurons, which fire whenever we observe the movements of others. When this happens our capacity to experience kinaesthetic empathy is ignited – feeling what it’s like to be the person you are observing. This doesn’t just apply to other humans: we can extend this capacity to mirror and experience empathy in this way to other animals, and even plants and natural phenomena like the wind and ocean waves. Kinaesthetic empathy recognises our kinship with all living things.
On the beach that morning, I began to sense the water in my body and imagine how water would like to move. Becoming breaking wave, swaying, rippling seaweed in a rush of tidal water, rising and falling with breath, toes tracing circles on the sand – ankles, knees, pelvis, spine, ribs, shoulders, arms, neck, head and eyes all follow. Spiralling like a moon shell.
Water’s spiralling motion energises it, giving it vitality and the ability to receive and transmit information. The spiral is the basic movement and pattern underlying all growth. Moving is essential for our own vitality, to encourage healthy communication within and between every cell in every organ. Circling our head, neck and spine, or rotating our arms or hips, activates and energises the healing qualities of water in our body, bringing vitality to all of our systems.
In a world where it is increasingly challenging to express the self without censorship, especially for women or others in bodies that belong to a minority, a more sensuous encounter with our bodies is one way to begin to expand after years of contraction. Encounters with water are one of the most sensuous experiences we can have – water affects not only our senses, but our entire being. Water is mentally stimulating and therapeutic, with the capacity to alter and transform our most ingrained thought patterns. There is also a certain all-enveloping intimacy to water, the way it can move over our bodies, touching every part of who we are. Meeting a deeply human need for touch – to be felt, heard and seen.
That morning on the beach, when I finally let go of the ‘performance’, the feeling of being watched and judged, and began to mirror the movement patterns of the seabirds, waves and tides, I felt an incredible sense of expansion. I moved without any thought, from my neck and shoulders across the length of my extended arms and beyond, into the air that my fingertips brushed, mirroring a fulmar in flight. Still grounded, I felt light, like the wind. As breaking waves rippled up and down my spine, my sense of self became completely fluid. The waterscape I had immersed myself in had transformed my own body of water. Just as water is able to smooth the roughest rock or break it down into fine sand, I was beginning to feel my edges soften, to feel remade.
This article is adapted from Easkey’s book Ebb and Flow: Connect with the Patterns and Power of Water, published by Watkins.
