Laying in the mud

Half an hour easily goes past and I'm still playing in child-like awe crossing the rocks on the shoreline.

I've relinquished my belongings and rolled my trousers up to experience the rocks under feet, as they're lapped by the ocean.

I'm trying to make it from one side of the enclosed shoreline to the other. The tidal waves get closer and closer to the beach wall as a I progress, the diagonal passage narrows, the rising sea now above all the rocks and lapping the wall as I get to the end.

I get the urge to repeat the crossing, crawling on my hands and feet - but I'm too self-conscious that onlookers may find this man, crawling on hands and feet across an enclosed rocky shore line at a public bathing pavilion - quite peculiar.

I'd also like to lay in the mud more often.

I'm sure the birds wouldn't think it's strange. The crabs and turtles would understand. And the earth wouldn't mind.

Experiencing bodies of terrain intimately as connected to our own bodies might help us regain a nourishing relationship to the earth. I know it does for me.

Perhaps in a few years we'll all be laying in the mud.